Tempered
by CSIGeekFan
Summary: Grissom's life and cases after Sara leaves... M for sexual content and language. Post 8x10. Continued in Restart.
1. Chapter 1

A/N – Okay, my first attempt at something really really rated Mature. Yes, people… there are some sexual situations that will be occurring. I've never actually written them before, so… please be kind and review. It's going to be a day or two before I can get the next chapter(s) up.

NOTE – It hasn't been beta'd, so any errors found are mine.

Disclaimer – Someone besides me can pay for the lawyers.

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**Tempered**

Grissom found himself in line at New York, New York yet again, waiting to be let onto the roller coaster. His third ride this week, he looked forward to the release, as adrenaline pumped through his body. He understood the physics of it – the release of pressure on the muscles when it was over, and how the vibrations of the car eked away the tenseness.

Sitting in the front car, he waited for the tourists to board, thankful the noise around him prevented having to hear their inane conversations. He was there for the simple reason of wanting to let go. If he had to hear one more person mention Sara's name, or see one more person look at him sideways, he knew the slight hold on his temper would be lost.

_Hell, I'd probably end up yelling at Ecklie_, he thought to himself, and barked a humorless laugh.

As the ride lurched forward, Grissom tilted his head back and prepared to be ripped in every direction at once. It's one of the reasons he liked this one. He could damn near guarantee he'd get jerked around until he felt like a vibrating mass of loose limbed energy when he got off. At least he'd be a step closer to sleep when he got home.

The next night, sitting behind his desk, Grissom stared at his In box. It amazed him no paperwork needed to be completed. Apparently working a few dozen extra shifts worked wonders. Ecklie no longer had an excuse to bitch at him about some form or another. Feeling smug, Grissom thought, _I've even got next month's equipment requisitions in_.

He just wished he wasn't so irritable all the time. After the initial shock of her disappearance had dwindled, and the general weirdness of that first week dissipated, he was just plain angry. Of all the ridiculous things she could have done, this is the one that outright made him want to shake her until her brain rattled back into place.

"Yeah, Catherine," he said to the blond blocking his doorway, "what can I do for you?"

"Not much," she said, taking a seat.

He already knew what she wanted, so he sat back in his chair and tried to focus on keeping his hands unclenched.

"Heard from Sara lately?" Catherine asked.

_1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10. Nope, didn't work,_ he thought to himself, grinding his teeth.

"Yes, I have," he said, frowning fiercely, hoping she'd take the hint and drop the subject. Of all his team, she's the one that surprised him with the sympathy and words of encouragement about his and Sara's relationship. He knew Cath could be the queen of gossip, and the fact that she'd been clueless hadn't really fazed her.

Apparently taking into account the look on his face and the sheer tension radiating from him, she stood and said, "I'm going to go find the guys."

Once Catherine left, Grissom picked up his cell phone and felt ridiculous as he listened for the umpteenth time to Sara's latest voice message. He may not be happy with the woman, but the anger didn't dissuade the edges of loneliness from creeping in on him. Rubbing his eyes, he flipped the phone closed, and stared once again at his empty desk.

"This is going to be a long night," he muttered to the empty room, and found himself actually _hoping_ something would happen to break up the shift. Unfortunately, when he saw his office again twelve hours later, he was covered in dirt and human soup, and ready to kill one of his guys. It had taken them an hour to get to the crime scene out in the middle of a ranch, and nearly ten hours to scour the area to come up with very little, and right now he felt tired and edgy.

"Griss, really. I'm sorry. Man, I didn't realize I'd tipped my side that high until it was coating you," Nick said. He'd been apologizing repeatedly – in the car on the way back from the ranch south of Vegas, and since they got to the lab. Having had enough, Grissom finally just raised his hand to silence him.

As if he were talking to a child, Grissom carefully explained in simple terms, "Nick, I'm going to go take a shower now. If you really want to keep working here, I suggest you disappear until the smell of decomp is gone."

Grabbing a spare set of clothes and some lemons out of his cabinet, Grissom stalked to the showers, and stopped short when he saw the horrified look on Greg's face, and the way he scurried from the room.

_Christ_, he thought, _I must look like crap_.

Suddenly the events of the day settled into him, and fatigue swamped. Standing under the spray, the first order of business was to try and clear his face of any debris. Rarely did a body make him squeamish, but he had never had his face coated in human remains. The mere thought of it made his stomach lurch, and when he gagged he cranked the heat up higher.

"Think of something nicer," he muttered, much the way a child would try to divert its attention from a nightmare.

So he thought back to the last shower he'd taken with her. The game was simple – he or she who entered the shower last got the chore. Last time it had been Sara washing him. He could just _feel_ the way her hands moved through his wet hair, landing on his neck, where she would stroke and massage until he moaned. They'd slid lower, spreading the body wash on a sponge, turning him to run it across his back. Closing his eyes, he could hear her put the sponge on the dish and feel her run her hands up his shoulder blades, raking her short nails around his waist as her nipples puckered and rubbed against his back. She'd slowly lower her hand until she could stroke his erection. He'd tilt his head back on a moan, and…

Viciously slamming the water to freezing, Grissom swore and removed his hand from his shaft. This wasn't the first time he'd showered in the lab lately, and had to stop himself from masturbating in his place of work. His mood turning as cold as the water, he finished his shower with the water frigid as his own perverse form of punishment.

Ten minutes and a dozen lemons later, Grissom sat on the bench in the locker room putting on his socks when he got the page from Robbins. _Got a preliminary report for you_.

"What do you have?" Grissom asked without preamble, walking through the doors of the morgue.

"While this guy is pretty much just human soup, I was able to find several bones and some hairs," Robbins said.

"Have you been able to determine the age and sex of the victim?" Grissom asked.

"My preliminary estimation would be middle-aged male based on the shape and wear of the pelvic bone," Robbins replied, picking up the bone in question. Continuing, he added, "I'll have a better idea once I'm finished with the full report."

"Thanks, Al," Grissom absently replied, heading towards the door.

"I'll be sending a the hair to tox for analysis," Robbins said, before shifting back to study the body. The last thing Grissom saw before the door closed behind him was Robbins encased arm submerged into the remains of what once was a human life.

With a sigh, Grissom decided it was better to let everyone loose for now. Their victim wasn't going anywhere, and obviously had been in the old, forgotten metal water trough for a long time. Feeling weary, he stopped off in the evidence room, told Greg and Nick to head out, and he too went home.

The fatigue should have had him dragging in the door, but the raw nerves he felt had him stumbling his way into the townhouse. Obligations came first, so he fed Hank and put him out in the yard while he headed to the bathroom. Running the shower full blast, he needed – desperately – to complete the ritual he'd started a few weeks ago after he'd found himself nearly climaxing in the shower at work.

He picked up her shampoo, as water cascaded down over him. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent and smelled her there. He saw the last time they'd had sex in the shower so clearly he became hard within moments. She'd been behind him, rubbing the pebble hard nipples across his back, listening to him moan. She'd run her hands down his chest, and onto his thighs, making sure her nails raked slightly as she ran them towards the juncture. When she'd shifted one hand to grip the base of him, he'd gasped for air. She'd moved in front of him and sunk to her knees, a wicked grin on her face. When he'd looked down, he'd seen her eyes become nearly black with want. When she'd opened smiled and opened her mouth, all thought had fled. She'd had to tell him to wrap her hair in his hands.

As Grissom stood there in the shower – alone – he could almost feel her hands on his thighs, gently raking while her mouth wrapped around his erection and tugged him in with moist heat, filling her, as she sucked and fondled. He could feel her tongue sliding against him. While his fantasy of her mouth stroking him played on, his hand mimicked the actions, slowly squeezing the tip, stroking down and up, and then gently squeezing again. The warmth of the spray acted like the warmth of her eager mouth. As he fantasized of Sara sitting up tall on her knees stroking her nipples and begging with whimpers and moan, his hand moved in rapid succession until he could damn near hear her sigh of satisfaction in the air, and he groaned her name, releasing ribbons of cum.

Leaning his forehead against the wall of the shower, he caught his breath. Slowly, he rinsed himself off. He knew the situation wouldn't last forever, but for now even his release left nothing but emptiness deep in him. Sex without love was… bleak.

Lying on the bed, Grissom pulled out his cell phone one more time and listened to her voice, with his eyes closed. Hank jumped up next to him, nuzzled the phone, and lay down next to his master. One went to sleep, while the other lay awake… worrying.

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A/N – Okay, I'm trying for something less "romanticized" here. I'd like some honest opinions. Preferably constructive. I haven't decided exactly where I'm taking this story, but I have a vague idea. Hopefully it'll be worth reading. Again, please please review.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – Okay… I'm going for a little edgier, and I'm actually trying to write something of a case file. Basically, I'm forcing myself out of my comfort zone and trying something new. I hope you like. I'm personally withholding judgment at the moment. LOL

Please, please review.

Disclaimer: Every once in awhile, I wonder if anyone from CBS worries about the little world the fanfic authors have created. Then I think…. Nah.

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Grissom had barely entered the building the next night before he received the page from Toxicology. _Got your results_.

"Okay, here's the strange thing," Henry began before Grissom even stepped foot in the tox lab. Henry moved around excitedly as he explained, "I've never seen this before. I've heard of it, but never actually got to see it happen to a person. Strange."

"What did you find?" Grissom snapped.

"Sorry," Henry said, sobering, "You need to look at this."

The lab tech thrust a sheet of paper into Grissom's hand, and waited nervously. He was used to his boss's abrupt attitude at times, but the snarling had become typical Grissom over the last few weeks.

Dropping his reading glasses onto his nose, Grissom scanned through the results and looked up sharply at Henry.

Henry bobbed his head in affirmation. "I double-checked the results. I've never seen it in the human body before, but there you have it. The safety protocols are tightly restricted, so this stuff doesn't get out. I also verified that my own stash of the stuff was safely stored and not contaminating the evidence. It's all accounted for, so I know it's not cross-contamination of any kind."

"Traces of Dimethylmercury," Grissom murmured.

Back in his office, he found the coroner's report waiting on his desk and read through the notes. Grissom knew the cause of death was about to changed from Unknown to Poison. A slight amount of the chemical would be enough to kill someone not wearing specialized protective gear.

Having reviewed his own evidence, Grissom went in search of Nick and Greg. He found them in the evidence room, with a table full of effects found in and around the container where they'd found the victim. He laid out the available reports on the table, and looked up at the men.

"What do you have?" Greg asked, peering over the baseball cap he'd found half-buried a few feet from the victim.

"You show me yours, and I'll show you mine," Grissom quipped in reply.

Greg propped his clipboard in front of him and started reviewing the notes he'd made on the evidence and waited for Nick to sit down. "Unless Robbins came up with a wallet, we have no identification on the victim. However, we've got a baseball cap and a jacket found next to the trough. Right now, I'm working on pulling a sample from the edge of the hat to see if maybe there's enough to get a DNA sample."

"We've sifted through everything else, and logged it all, but there's not much else to tell," Nick told his boss. Picking up the shirt, he said, "I'm going to take a sample from the arm pit of the shirt to see what kind of hit we get in CODIS, as well… eliminate two sources for the clothing we have."

"Let me tell you what Robbins found," Grissom said, and relayed the information from the coroner. Continuing, he said, "Toxicology found Dimethylmercury in the hair sample sent up from the morgue."

"Isn't that a neurotoxin?" Nick asked.

"Yes," replied Grissom.

Thinking out loud, Greg said, "You know, the stuff is not easy to get a hold of. For that matter, it's strictly regulated. I'll check out the chemical labs around Vegas, and do a search on distributors in the country. With any luck, maybe we can pinpoint the source of the poison."

While Greg went off in search of the chemical source, Nick went through the evidence they'd gathered at the scene. While there hadn't been much of anything around the victim, but land, land, and more land, they'd sifted an enormous area, and still had people sifting out more. Even though Nick's gut told him they wouldn't find anything else, he headed back out to the scene to check on the progress being made and determine if more searching was needed.

While his CSI searched their own leads, Grissom began a detailed analysis of the compound that had killed the victim. Deep in an article, he'd barely heard his phone ring, and absently flipped it open.

"Grissom," he answered.

"Gil," Sara said on the other end of the line.

That's all it took for everything in him to heave a sigh and relax a fraction.

"Sara… How are you?" he asked and winced, knowing how she hated that question. Quickly, he walked over and closed the door, all the while ruefully saying, "Sorry – force of habit. I'm trying not to always ask."

Blowing out a slow breath, she said, "That's okay. I think I've got a better answer than the other day when I started sobbing over the phone. How does terrible, but better sound?"

The smile felt foreign on his face, and he responded, "It's better than _fine_ or _good_ or _okay_."

Laughing softly, her voice watery, she said, "I really wish I knew what I was doing here. I know I need to be here, but I can't manage to wrap my head around the 'why' or 'how'."

"I'm just happy to hear your voice," he murmured, and added, "and as hard as this is, I know you'll figure it out."

"You're always so confident about that when we talk. I wish I had just a fraction of that to go on."

Grissom thought about her statement and said, "Have you ever noticed how cynical you get when you're tired? You eventually solve whatever problem is in front of you… unless you turn into the meandering pessimist."

His voice lowered when he said, "Have faith in yourself, honey. I have faith in you."

He heard her breath quietly shake on the other end of the line, and they both went silent. Grissom closed his eyes and just listened. He relished the sound of the rhythmic breathing, and could feel himself breathe in time. Both seemed content to _just be_ for a few minutes. Finally, Sara murmured, "I'm so glad I talked to you. I hate leaving you messages. You call me back, but I feel like an idiot talking into some machine, trying to explain… and I'm babbling again." She sighed.

"You know I'm here, and I'll always listen," he offered, then softly added, "I really miss you… and your babbling." Her soft chuckle always soothed him.

"I miss you, too, Gil. For the first time in days, I think I might actually be able to sleep," she told him on a yawn.

"Then I'll let you go, but Sara? Anytime you can't sleep, just call," Grissom offered.

"When is your next night off?" she asked, and was met by silence. He could just about see her brow furrowing and her lips compressing in annoyance when she said, "Schedule a night off, Gil. If I need sleep, then so do you."

"Yes, dear," he sighed, whispered "Goodbye" and hung up.

His eyes closed, and he imagined her at home, sitting on the couch, flipping through a forensics book or journal. It was not uncommon to walk in and see the dog's head in her lap and hear her hum while she became engrossed in an article.

He could also still see her standing outside his office, with that look on her face saying she needed to talk. When he'd looked up again and she'd been gone, the confusion warred with the reports in his hand, and he'd let it go. Feeling the tension build in his muscles once again, Grissom stood up and paced his office a few times, knowing he needed to find a release, but also knowing it wouldn't happen anytime soon.

Pulling on his glasses and sitting back at his desk, he did the one thing he still knew he was good at – he worked.

It wasn't until much later – the start of Grissom's typical double – that Wendy stopped Grissom in the hall.

"I got a hit back from CODIS from the samples Greg, and Nick gave me, and they match what I got from the bone provided by the coroner," she said, smiling.

"Then why aren't you talking to _them_?" he gruffly asked. He barely made it two steps before sighing, turning back to Wendy, and asking, "Who?"

"Andrew Baker. He's in the system because he works with a company called LV Labs, Inc., and they handle controlled toxic substances" she said, handing him the results.

Report in hand, Grissom headed towards his office. Over his shoulder he said, "I'll give Greg and Nick the results."

When Greg walked into his office just a few minutes and a page later, excitement evident on his face, Grissom sat back and waited for it. His patience thin, he luckily didn't have to wait long.

The excitement faded, as Greg watched the storm of intolerance pass over Grissom's face, and instead the young CSI felt irritation rise.

Speaking low, his face now completely sober, Greg stated, "I just got off the phone with the only distributor that has sent any Dimethylmercury to anyplace in Las Vegas or the surrounding area. The first place it was shipped was this lab, and the other place is-"

"LV Labs," Grissom interrupted.

"How did you know?" Greg asked.

"Wendy found a match in CODIS for Andrew Baker, who works or worked for LV Labs. It appears we've got an ID on the victim," Grissom explained. Handing the report across to Greg, he said, "He was never reported missing."

Furrowing his brow, Greg vaguely asked, "Hmmm… why was he never missed?"

"That's a good question, Greg," Grissom said, "why don't we see if we can find some answers."

Grabbing his coat, Grissom and Greg headed out to find out precisely when LV Labs had lost their employee. On the way, Grissom contacted Brass and Nick, gave them the address of their victim's residence, and told Nick to process the scene.

Located in the business district, neither was surprised to find the building surrounded by fencing akin to what would be seen in a prison.

Grissom explained, "Homeland Security is beginning to have more strict requirements on substances with the label neurotoxin. Because of the potential for terrorism, most toxicology labs now follow strict protocols for handling and transporting these compounds, and often with armed guards. It's one of the reasons our own is stored in a specialized safe in the lab, and restricted to only supervisors and toxicology lab technicians."

Flashing their badges at the entry gate, they were escorted to the lobby by a security guard, and left in the care of the receptionist.

"I'm Gil Grissom, LVPD Crime Lab. I'd like to speak to someone regarding Andrew Baker if I could."

After reviewing the presented credentials, the young blond woman tapped a button on the phone and said, "Mr. Stevens, there are a couple of gentlemen I think need to speak with you. They're from the police." Grissom would have rolled his eyes if he hadn't given up trying to explain the difference between a cop and a criminalist a long time ago. Unfortunately, Greg hadn't learned it yet, and happily explained it to a woman who probably could not have cared less.

When the twenty-something man approached nearly fifteen minutes later, wearing shorts, sneakers, and a t-shirt, Grissom eyed him wearily. Feeling irritated at having been left with nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs, he impatiently stood up from the generic chair in the lobby.

"I'm Evan Stevens, founder of LV Labs," the kid said, extending his hand.

"Gil Grissom," came the reply, and he took the kid's hand.

"Greg Sanders. We're from the Las Vegas crime lab," Greg informed him.

"You wanted to talk about Andy?" Stevens asked – his face quizzical. Looking around the lobby, he said, "Let's go on back to my office."

The hall consisted of a series of doors, all key coded for restricted access, but all having a large window next to it. "We use bullet proof glass in all of our rooms," Stevens explained as they passed by several large labs, where they could see people in protective gear. "Because of the possible risks around using some of the chemical compounds here, we try to mitigate the risks the best we can, so nothing can possibly escape the lab," the young man continued.

"I've seen the company name of LV Labs, Inc. on several reports," Grissom said, then added, "You've done some independent toxicology reporting for court cases, and acted as expert witness."

Smiling, Stevens stopped in front of a door with no accompanying window and punched in his code. "You're absolutely right," he said.

Stepping into the large office, Stevens waved the criminalists over to a comfortable seating area. Once they were settled, he said, "The expert witness cases provide much of our bread and butter. We also have some independent research going on, so what we do in court helps pay the expenses there. Plus, we've done some toxicology analysis for drug manufacturers. Andy worked on the independent research and expert witness sides of the company. Can I ask why you're here?"

"He's dead. Mr. Baker's remains were found less than forty eight hours ago," Grissom bluntly stated, and watched Stevens' face turn ashen.

Sinking into a chair across from the criminalists, Stevens whispered, "Fuck me." Looking at Grissom he shook his head, as if trying to clear it, and asked, "Are you sure it's Andy?" When he received the nod, Stevens closed his eyes and Grissom watched him force a slow breath.

"Have you seen him lately?" Grissom demanded. At Greg's stern look, he softened his tone and rephrased the question, "When was the last time you heard from him?"

Stevens sat back, and murmured, "It's strange." Frowning, he added, "I came in one day about three months ago, and there was an envelope with a letter of resignation. I hadn't expected that – I hadn't seen it coming."

"Do you often have people just quit?" Greg asked.

"Actually, it's a first. We try to provide a family-friendly, relaxing work environment. If we're not in the lab where being alert and on edge is pretty much a requirement, we try to be laid back and loose. I provide as much as I can to my employees, because it attracts the best of the best, and keeps employee turn-over low," Stevens explained.

"Do you still have the letter?" Grissom asked.

Crossing the room, Stevens pulled open a filing cabinet next to his over-flowing desk and pulled up a file. "I've got it right here," he said, and handed the envelope to Grissom, who placed it in an evidence bag.

"What was Stevens working on before he resigned?" Greg asked.

"He and another co-worker had a joint project for a new anti-biotic. We have been very excited about it, because it seems to fight of the super-staph infection MRSA. Currently, there are no drugs that really fight it well, because it's mutated and become something of a superbug. The fact is, it can kill a perfectly healthy, strong child in a matter of weeks," Stevens said, taking his seat.

"I'll need the name of the people he worked with directly," Grissom said.

"He really only worked with one person directly. Her name's Amelia Kohl, but it's her day off," Stevens relayed. He added, "I'll get you her personnel information."

As they walked out towards the lobby, Stevens suddenly exclaimed, "Wait here!" and disappeared into another window-less room. Emerging just moments later, he handed Greg a box.

"When Andy resigned, I boxed up his personal affect, thinking he might come back for them." Stevens added, "I should have known something was wrong when he didn't."

"Thanks," Greg said. As they approached the front door, the young man frowned and stated, "I know Andy didn't have any family. If no one comes forward, would it be possible for me to take care of his remains? I want to make sure he gets a proper burial. He is… was… a good guy."

"You'll need to talk to the coroner for that, not me," Grissom replied, his mind already moving away from the interview to the items in the box Greg held. Absently, he waved off the young man, leaving Greg to field anymore questions. Unfortunately, this left Greg in a rather pissed off mood, as he watched his supervisor blow off Stevens.

The ride back to the office was deadly silent. Greg didn't talk to Grissom because he was fuming that his supervisor had not only brushed off Stevens, but also him, and Grissom didn't talk to Greg, because he didn't really want to. By the time they arrived, Greg felt tense, tight, and ready to blow. Grissom didn't feel anything but the norm.

Stalking into his boss's office, Greg stood as he waited for his boss to sit, and then shut the door to the office.

"You know, Griss, I can understand that you've been tense since Sara left," Greg started, but paused when he saw Grissom's jaw clench. Shaking off the reaction, Greg continued, "However, what the _fuck_ was that about? On what planet do you get to treat people like nothing more than tools? I'm getting sick of getting snapped at and walking on egg shells, and so is everyone else around here." That said, Greg stormed out of Grissom's office.

Grissom sat back in his chair, truly surprised by the outburst.

_Did he just say that?_

As Grissom frowned at his desk, contemplating the length of the suspension he was about to hand Greg, Catherine walked in, laid a file in his In box, and sat down. She noted the circles under his eyes getting darker each day, especially since Christmas, and the fatigue etching deeper into his face. The fact that he perpetually looked pale was telling.

"You know, Gil, you really need to take a day or two off," Catherine mildly said. Tilting her head a bit, she studied her colleague and added, "You're getting hard to take in large doses."

Rubbing his eyes, as he felt that familiar twinge of pain throb across his temples and forehead, Grissom sighed. Resigned to having to say something he murmured, "It's Thursday. I'll take Saturday night off, okay?" _Please just leave,_ he thought.

Forcing a smile and pointedly looking at his watch, he said, "I'll spend some time with our dog. However, right now, I'm finishing up at least a double, so I'm heading home."

Standing, Grissom escorted Catherine from his office, knowing that by the time he reached his townhouse, the pressure behind his eyes would make him want to just pluck them out, and the nausea would set in full force, making him sweat and ache through every pore.

An hour later, half asleep on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, he wished for nothing more than a gap to open up in the ground, and swallow him whole.

Having run into Catherine on his way out, she relayed to Greg that Grissom had agreed to take a night off. While part of him was glad she'd gotten him to do it, the other part was still irate.

Meanwhile, Nick was finishing up his own shift. Starting into a triple, he and Brass had already walked through Andrew Baker's house. Nothing had seemed out of place. In fact, everything seemed perfectly normal, except that the computer's hard drive had been completely wiped. Before heading home, he dropped the blank disk off on Archie's desk, and stopped off at Frank's to get a bite to eat with Brass.

"Christ, I'm tired," Brass muttered between bites.

"I know what you mean, man," Nick replied, "With any luck I'll catch a few hours before shift starts."

Barking a humorless laugh, Brass replied, "Here's hoping your boss does, too, because if he yells at me one more time like he did at the scene the other night, we're going to have more than words."

"Yeah, well… Catherine called awhile ago to let me know she's making him take a day off. With any luck, maybe he'll just relax for awhile and give us all a break," Nick responded. Taking his last bite, he grinned at Brass, paid his bill, and headed home for much needed sleep.

Greg paced his living room, not quite fuming anymore, but knowing that Grissom's distance from everyone and attitude was getting on everyone's nerves. She'd been gone for nearly two months, and he was getting worse, especially lately. Grabbing his phone, he made the arrangements, and then dialed the familiar number he'd called frequently in the past.

At the prompt, he left the message, "Sara, I don't know if you even have this cell phone any longer, but if you do, there's a ticket waiting for you at the airport for Saturday morning. It's a round trip for you to return Sunday. I could care less at this point what you're dealing with, but he's getting out of hand. Either you deal with him, or we will, and I'm pretty sure our way won't be nearly as helpful. I expect you to be on the goddamn plane." He didn't bother saying goodbye. Right now, all he could do was hope.

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TBC?

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A/N – Hello. Please leave a message after the beep. By beep I mean the review button. So… imagine the review button is a beep, and leave it a message.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N – Okay, I hope you're liking the story. Please read and review. Let me know what you think. Thanks!

NOTE: I don't have a beta, so mistakes are my own. Please be kind.

Disclaimer – Hmmm… I'll get back to you on that.

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Grissom arrived at the lab a few minutes late, feeling hung-over from the migraine, but jumpy from the sheer amount of coffee he'd had to drink. He mirthlessly laughed over the fact that fatigue could give him a migraine faster than anything, and one of the best things to counter-balance and control it was caffeine. So, after passing out in his bathroom after getting home, he'd finally managed to down some coffee and lay out exhausted on his bed, but only sleeping a couple of hours.

Feeling too tired to care, he'd decided to ignore Greg's outburst, knowing his CSIs had been burning the candle at both ends on this one, as well. Part of him also wanted to ignore what Greg had said, because it hurt his head too much to think about it.

Grabbing the assignment slips, he walked into the break room.

"We've only got a B&E tonight – for Catherine and Warrick," he informed them.

"Nick and Greg, let's see what we can do to wrap up this case," he said, looking at the two men sitting at the table.

"Griss, you're not looking so good," Warrick commented. Grissom just looked at him, turned, and left them sitting in the break room.

"Another fun shift," Greg huffed, as he and Nick headed out to check the evidence. While they'd been waiting for Grissom to show up, Nick had filled Greg in on the sheer _lack_ of anything at Baker's residence. "There were no signs of forced entry," Nick said, "and no signs of anything out of place. However, when I powered up the computer, it came up with a blank hard disk, so I'm thinking _something_ happened there. Scientists don't generally just erase their work."

"Hopefully, Archie will be able to retrieve the contents," Greg said, entering Grissom's office. While Nick briefed Grissom on the residence, Greg watched the older man's pale face. _Warrick's right, _Greg thought, _he really does look like hell_.

As Nick finished up his account, his pager went off. _Found something interesting. A._

"Speak of the devil," he murmured, "Archie's got something."

Once in the lab, Archie pointed to the hard disk daisy chained to his own PC. "Whoever erased the hard disk knew what they were doing. It's a good thing I'm better, though." Turning to his keyboard, Archie clicked some keys on his keyboard and pulled up a screen.

"I was able to recover several partial files," he said. Tapping some more, he continued, "Most are simple notes and other everyday documents. This one, though, is interesting." Clicking his mouse, Archie pulled up a document and hit print. It seems to be a letter, and the contents are interesting. Handing Nick the printout, Archie looked at Grissom and said, "I'm going to keep looking, but I don't think I'll find much more."

"Thanks, Archie," Nick said absently, reading the document. As they walked towards Grissom's office, he described the contents, "This looks like a letter to the guy you spoke to yesterday, and it's not a happy letter, either." With that, he handed the letter to Greg.

"Baker wanted Evans to double-check the results of the analysis being done on the drug he was working on. The one to treat MRSA," Greg murmured. Reaching the bottom, his eyes widened, and he whistled. "Holy shit, he's outright accusing his partner of concocting some of the results of the tests."

Grabbing his cell phone, Grissom punched in Brass' number. "We need a warrant for the residence and workplace of Amelia Kohl." Turning to his guys, he said, "Brass will meet us there."

Grissom, Greg and Nick joined Brass in front of the home of Amelia Kohl at seven o'clock that morning. Opening the door, the young pretty blond looked at the officers and asked, "Can I help you?"

Stepping forward, Brass handed her the warrant and said, "We are here to search your house and vehicle, Ms. Kohl."

Looking at Nick and Greg, Grissom said, "Why don't you go with Brass. I'm going to take the car." Walking over to the silver sedan, Grissom popped open the glove compartment and took out the registration. A quick sniff confirmed the "new car" smell, and the date of the paperwork verified it.

"Ms. Kohl, can I ask what you did with your old car?" Grissom asked, then stated, "this one is just a couple of months old."

"That old pile of garbage?" she innocently asked, "I had that destroyed when I bought this baby." Smiling, she said, "As a matter-of-fact, they even let me watch while it was crushed into this tiny little cube of metal and shipped to the county landfill."

After spending another hour scouring the car, Grissom became frustrated at the prospect of not being able to find justifiable cause to have it towed to the lab's garage. When Nick and Greg came out equally frustrated, Amelia simply looked over her shoulder at the three men, waved the perfectly manicured fingers of one hand at them, and smiled.

"The computer is brand new," Nick said. The receipt was still attached to the front of it.

"Any signs of her old computer?" Grissom asked, rhetorically. If she'd had the car destroyed, odds are she would have had the computer destroyed, as well. However, Nick answered anyway, with "Not a clue. We searched every room, the attic, the crawl space… even the chimney. Nothing."

"We don't have a damn thing," Grissom murmured, and suddenly felt an overwhelming fatigue. In an instant, the rays of the sun became just a little too bright, and the heat a little too much to take. Handing the keys to Nick, he faintly said, "Let's head back to the lab," and climbed into the back seat, where he could stretch out a bit. Looking at each other across the hood of the Denali, Greg and Nick glanced back at their boss, who was rubbing his eyes furiously, and clenching his jaw.

After dropping Grissom off in the lab, Greg and Nick headed out to LV Labs. Greg had made a call earlier, speaking with Evan Stevens, the president of the company and man he'd interviewed the day before, asking that Amelia not be allowed into her office until they'd searched it. Upon arrival, the two men were escorted directly to Stevens' office, where the young man greeted them.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Stevens," Nick said.

"Anything I can do to help, I'd be happy to do," Stevens said, walking down one hallway, then turning into another. "Amelia and Andy shared the lab down at the end of this corridor. It's a bit smaller than some of the team labs that have to contain up to ten people to work. However, Andy always liked it, and managed to make room for whatever equipment he needed."

As if realizing he was babbling, Stevens stopped talking and shook his head. "I apologize. I haven't had a lot of sleep since you told me about Andy," he softly said, addressing Greg. Continuing, he added, "I wasn't kidding when I said we're like a family here. When Don down in HR found out his kid had leukemia, everyone stepped in to help him out. The last thing we wanted was for him to have to worry about his job. Last summer, one of our toxicology expert's kid broke an arm – everyone and their families showed up at the hospital to sign the cast. The poor kid was only seven, and the cast was nothing but a mass of signatures."

As they approached the door, Stevens stepped up and punched in a code, causing the latch on the door to audibly click. "Before we go in, I am going to ask you to step into the clean room and put on suits. After that, please touch nothing without letting me know first. I'm not familiar with everything going on in the lab, so I don't know what might be disrupted."

Once in their protective gear, Stevens turned to the CSI and said, "Please keep in mind that anything in here is considered confidential." With that, the young company president escorted the men through the lab.

While Nick and Greg went through LV Labs, Grissom was reviewing the handwriting analysis report waiting on his desk. The letter of resignation had been put in an unsealed envelope. No fingerprints had been found on the envelope or the letter. The letter itself consisted of very few words, and all of them had been forged, but forged well. Everything from the paper to the ink was common grade grocery store material.

Back in his office, Grissom and Brass sat in the CSI supervisor's office, looking through reports. "The worst part of the whole thing is the complete inability to arrest her," Brass said. As if accused, Grissom sat forward and yelled, "How the hell am I supposed to provide evidence that doesn't exist?"

Holding up his hands, palms out, Brass sat back and calmly said, "You need to calm down. I can understand your being frustrated, but you're only pissing me off."

Running his hand over his face, Grissom wearily replied, "I know," then repeated it when he blew out a long breath. "I know."

"I won't ask if you've heard from her," Brass said. Smiling, he continued, "I'm pretty sure I don't want to know at this point. Just keep in mind that if you want to go out and get shit-faced one night, I'll drive."

"Thanks, but no," Grissom said, and was distracted as Nick and Greg walked into his office. Sinking down hard into unoccupied chairs next to Jim, neither looked happy.

"We didn't find anything that would allow us to take the computers, and nothing seemed out of place in the lab. The fact is, the Dimethylmercury can't even be marked off as missing, because all the vials are accounted for," Nick said.

The four men sat quietly for a moment before Greg suddenly grinned, "We may know we don't have enough evidence, but would Ms. Kohl?" Turning to Brass, he clarified, "How does she know we weren't able to trace the neurotoxin to a vial and from the vial to her?"

Raising his brow, Jim smirked at the younger man and said, "We could give it a try." Within an hour, Amelia Kohl was sitting in interrogation, and Gil Grissom sat across from her.

"We know you killed him, so why don't you just make it easy on yourself," Brass said standing behind her, sounding bored.

"Really?" she asked, "how did I kill him?"

Pulling up a toxicology report, Grissom passed it across the table to Amelia and said, "It only takes a few drops of Dimethylmercury to kill a person."

"I'm aware of that," she said, her tone sounding as bored as Brass's.

"Once you killed him, you took his body and placed it in your vehicle," Grissom expounded.

"Oh? Andy's a big guy. Are you sure I could possibly lift him?" she asked, innocently.

Shaking his head, Grissom responded, "Did you know that when adrenaline kicks in, you can gain superhuman strength?"

Smiling in reply, Amelia just shook her head, and said, "What else did I do?"

"I think you drove, trying to figure out what to do with your colleague," Grissom stated, then continued with, "and when you found an old dirt ranch road, you took it."

"The location was just sheer luck," Brass added, "because you found the perfect place to dump Andy off on that back road in the middle of nowhere. You rolled him from your car to the old steel water trough. Unfortunately, the hat fell off right away, and the shirt ripped off when he got stuck on the edge of your trunk."

"You know, it's really amazing what can be found from a car that has been compacted," Grissom said, knowing the whole while that wasn't remotely true. You can't get _shit_ from a car that's been compacted and heaved into the landfill.

"But why would I want to hurt Andy?" she innocently asked.

"We found a letter he wrote to your company's president, explaining that you doctored the MRSA drug's trial run – that you made up some of the results so you could fast track it to the market," Grissom said. Sitting back, he added, "I'd say that goes towards motive."

"So why don't we just cut the crap," Brass finally said, taking a seat next to Amelia. Lowering his voice a touch, he continued, "Just tell us your story, and maybe the D.A. will go easier on you. Otherwise…" he finished, spreading his hand, indicating _otherwise you're on your own_. For nearly a minute, the woman looked from Grissom to Brass, and back again, worry etched across her face. Within thirty seconds she began biting her lip, and her eyes began to tear up. Brass stood and walked behind her, and could just about feel the confession oozing out of her.

Just as suddenly, and so fast neither man so it coming, the eyes dried up, and her lips curled into a smile. "That's a very interesting tale you've woven there," she said pleasantly. Leaning back, she laughed softly before adding, "It's too bad you don't have any real evidence."

Standing, she tossed her hair back and asked, "Am I under arrest?"

At Brass's grudging "No", Amelia Kohl walked to the door. Turning back to Brass and Grissom, she said, "Yes, that was a very good story you just told me."

They had no choice but to let her walk out of the room.

"She's right. We just don't have the evidence," Grissom said, resignedly. Standing slowly, he walked out of the room and made his way down to his office. Standing in the doorway of his office, he looked around the dim room and meticulously shuffled the pages of the reports into a neat pile… and used every ounce of strength he had to throw them across his office.

As papers flew, Grissom turned and stalked past Greg and Nick, not even bothering to stop when his shoulder slammed into Nick's, and nearly knocked him over. Instead, he stood next to his car, clenched his hands, and asked himself why the hell he did this job. As he peeled out of the parking lot, Grissom headed home, as exhaustion finally overtook him.

Friday night's graveyard shift ended up being fairly light. A B&E and a trick roll kept Nick, Greg, and Warrick busy, so Grissom busied himself with what little paperwork was available. Part of him wanted to ditch out and go ride a roller coast, while another part knew he'd have plenty of time to do so later.

Catherine dropped by his office an hour before shift end.

"You have tomorrow night off, Gil," she reminded him. When he looked at her, she scowled and said, "If you step one foot near this building, I'm going to talk to Ecklie about the state of the lab right now. We may be loyal to you, but you need to take a break, and we'll do what we have to in order to make you do it." On that threat, which he figured was probably not so idle, Catherine walked out of his office.

That's how he ended up spending most of Friday – instead of working the usual double, which kept his mind and body occupied, he road roller coasters. On the fifth different ride at the fifth different location, Grissom realized he'd been putting off the inevitable. Added to that, this nagging guilt in the back of his mind about not spending enough time with Hank irritated him to the point that he ended up taking him for an extra long walk.

Lying in bed late Friday night, Grissom played back Sara's message a couple of times. It still made him feel foolish, but he also recognized he wouldn't be sleeping without it. The same sleep turned from blessed nothing to coughing sand and burning sun. Panic ran over him as he dug up one body after another in the hot Nevada desert. Faces collided, as he saw the model morph into the car in the desert. His blood ran cold as he felt her lifeless hand in his, and suddenly his blood raged. Natalie and Amelia sat in an interrogation room, comparing notes. Both laughed at the sheer _stupidity_ of their team. The harder they laughed, the greater the rage that built, and burned, until he became enveloped by it, and began to pound his fist into the table… over and over and over…

Grissom shot awake, the burning rage in his throat, and his arms twitching to pound something, until he realized the noise came from his front door. Stalking down the hall, he threw on his robe, and yanked open the door, knowing he had a snarl on his face.

"What the fuck do you want?" almost came out of his mouth, before he really saw her. Instead, he just whispered, "Sara."

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A/N – Okay, I could really use some feedback. So, let's take a vote. All in favor of having me continue this story, press the Review button. Yeah, it's that little button right down there that you can tell me stuff with. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N – Okay, if you get offended by sexual situations, you really don't want to read this. More to follow. To those who read Fear and Redemption… I decided to go ahead and take the scene to its true completion in this story. To Moo Marie, my best critic, no I haven't written any letters to Penthouse lately. LOL

PLEASE REVIEW

Disclaimer – Since I don't think we'll ever get anything like this out of CBS, I don't think they're going to sue me over it. I hope. Please don't sue me. I'm just borrowing the characters.

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"Sara," he repeated, feeling slightly disoriented, with every raw nerve jerking harshly. Clenching his jaw, he tried to focus, but the nightmare image of Natalie and Amelia laughing and mocking just wouldn't leave, and the pure fury he'd felt returned with a vengeance.

When she reached out and touched his face, something akin to flame scorched him and made him flinch. It also centered him, and had him pulling her in the door. Slamming the door, he pinned her. Every ounce of control fled, when his lips crushed hers and he felt her hands run through his hair.

Sliding his hands into her leather jacket, his yanked the offending garment partially down, trapping her arms. As she gasped for air, his lips found her neck and sucked, until she squirmed from the harsh onslaught. When she began to whimper, he moved his hands from her waist, and snaked them up her shirt, kneading the flesh he found.

Without thought, he dropped his hand to her trousers, and fumbled with the buttons and she was left with her pants bunched around her ankles. Looking down, those plain cotton briefs she always wore hugged her hips perfectly. "God, I love your underwear," he said, slowly sliding his hand between her legs, where he could feel the moisture gathering through the panties.

"Tell me you want me," he demanded, watching her eyes glaze as he rubbed the core of her through the cotton. Caught in the haze of pure lust, Sara focused on haunted blue eyes, and whimpered, "Gil… I want you. Now."

"I want you," he said, licking up her neck to her ear, where he sucked and fondled the lobe with his tongue. "Beg for me," he commanded, his breath tickling her, as his finger slid around the panties and into her, making her gasp.

"Now. Please, Gil…" she begged, and found herself half dragged to the dining table. Fighting off her shoes, the pants fell away, but her arms remained confined by the jacket. Lifting her onto the table, he laid her back and pulled off her panties, leaving her legs hanging over the table. He watched her hair spread out, and when he set himself between her thighs, she moaned in anticipation. His hands pushed her t-shirt up to expose her bra. She arched her back and felt his mouth come down over one lace-clad nipple.

Sucking through the material, and biting until she moved restlessly against him, he spread the robe apart, and pulled the briefs down, releasing his shaft to the cool air. When he pulled back, her eyes opened, and he watched the nearly black orbs glaze as he spread her legs farther.

He gave her no warning before roughly pulling her hips to him, and sinking deep in one hard stroke. Wrapping her legs around him, she felt the table shake as he plunged into her again. Over and over, he whispered her name, thrusting harder each time, until slight tendrils of delicious pain intermingled with intense pleasure, and she felt her walls start to clench around him. As the table shook, and the planes of his face hardened, he watched her eyes and said, "Go over for me, Sara. Go over." With two more hard thrusts, he felt those walls clench as she screamed his name. He continued to thrust, until he felt himself falling off the same cliff, releasing himself into her, caught up in the knowledge he was coating her walls with part of himself. As he continued to thrust, he felt her relax around him, and sank himself into her to stay. Breathing heavy, he laid himself partially over her, terrified to leave her for the moment. Connected in the most elemental way, Grissom felt his muscles begin to soften for the first time in a very long time. The headache that always seemed so close to tipping him into agony gave way, and he relaxed and released.

Under him, Sara's mind reeled. _What the hell is happening to him_, she thought, worry creeping in as she felt him slacken. Turning her head, she saw him staring at her, his eyes urgently sinking into hers.

"I love you, Gil," she whispered, leaning up and into him, softly covering his lips with hers.

Suddenly coming back into himself, Grissom's eyes widened and he pulled back, looking down at her, and realized what he'd done. "Damn. Did I hurt you?" he asked, his face etched in concern.

Laughing softly she replied, "If you did, then please do it again."

Smiling, he released his connection, stood back from her, and helped her stand. With her arms still trapped in her jacket, he tilted his head and kissed her with nothing but a gentleness he hadn't felt in so long it was foreign.

"Come sleep with me," she whispered, wriggling the jacket to the floor, and pulling the remaining clothes off in a trail to the bedroom. Looking back at the motionless man, she whispered, "Please come sleep with me."

Curling together on the bed, their legs entwined, she laid her head on his chest. Running his fingers through her curly hair, he murmured, "I've missed you," before his heavy eyes overruled the other senses and he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

She lay there, listening to his heart beat, and wondered just how much pain she'd caused. For now, he needed rest, but when he woke… they needed to talk. Eventually, sleep found her as well, and the lovers lay together as morning light streamed into the room.

Hours later, the first thing to penetrate Sara's sleep was the texture of skin and hair under her cheek. The second was the feel of fingers running gently through her hair, making her moan with relaxing pleasure. Smiling, she tilted her head, and placed a gentle kiss on his chest.

When she looked up, Grissom's grin widened, and she watched him. He seemed entranced – watching as the curling mass slid through his fingers, until he reached the ends, and the strands seemed to float down. When his gaze met hers, those same fingers reached down to rub across her lips, as if memorizing them.

His eyes were so much clearer than when she arrived. She shivered, remembering the trepidation she'd felt when he'd opened the door. Something in those eyes had become so bleak in her absence. It was a look she'd never seen before, and never wanted to see again. He'd had times when they'd looked hopeless, particularly after a hard case. They'd never looked so lost before, and she wondered what else he was hiding from her.

Sitting up, she fluffed up her pillow and lay back, immediately feeling disconnected. So she grabbed his hand, like a lifeline.

"How have you been?" she asked, watching as those blue eyes darted away, and he mumbled, "Okay."

Raising her hand to his cheek, she turned his face towards hers and whispered, "Don't lie to me, Gil." Staring into his eyes, she asked again, softly, "How have you been?"

The brilliant blue dimmed, and his forehead tensed when he whispered, "Lonely. Hollow. Angry…"

"I wish you'd told me," she gently said, and leaned into him, feeling his arm wrap around her. She laid her head on his shoulder and ran her hand across his chest, feeling the comfort of the familiar planes and angles. "I wish I'd asked and listened," she murmured.

With a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up, and looked into her eyes. "Turn about is fair play," he said. He waited a beat before asking, "How have you been?"

Her eyes never left his when she whispered, "Lonely. Hollow. Angry…"

Chuckling, he pulled her closer and said, "We're pretty damn clueless, aren't we," and felt her lips smile against his neck. They just lay there, relishing the feeling of each other for awhile, until Hank jumped up on the bed and tried to push Sara out of the way. Laughing, she pushed the dog back, playfully, and he grabbed her pillow. Grissom truly laughed for the first time in quite awhile, as he watched the two play tug-of-war. When the dog had decided he'd played enough, he slurped his tongue across Sara's face, and made a bee-line for his doggy bed, and curled up.

"How about I make lunch," Sara offered. Grissom had other ideas. Grinning, he asked, "Don't we need a shower first?" When she grinned at him, knowing the game he wanted to play, he prompted her out of bed, saying, "Why don't you go ahead. I'll be there in a moment… I feel like working for my meal."

By the time they emerged, Sara felt amazingly sore in just the right areas, and couldn't seem to stop grinning. As he stepped behind her, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and whispered, "I love you."

While the words surprised her a little, as he rarely said them aloud, it was the tone that had her turning in his arms. "I love you, too," she replied, and spread her hands across his chest. Looking into his eyes, she could still see fatigue. "We need to really talk, Gil," Sara said, "but let's start with lunch and work our way there."

Feeling a slight reprieve, Grissom nodded, and they dressed in quiet. Working side-by-side in the kitchen, the familiar rhythm of simple household chores returned. Soon, they were sitting at the table, eating lunch and stealing glances.

"I'm going back to California," Sara said, laying her fork on her plate, and pushing it back. The resolution apparent in her eyes, she continued, "I have to finish what I started."

He'd had a feeling she wasn't home to stay, but still his stomach clenched hearing her say the words. Pushing his own plate back, he very softly replied, "Okay."

"I need to deal with my past alone," she reflected, and saw the disappointed look in his eyes. Reaching over to lay her hand on his, she continued, "but I need to be here, as well. I think I can do both, with your help." When he opened his mouth to speak, she raised her hand and corrected with, "Let me rephrase that. I think _we_ can do this… because I don't need to always be alone to find my way back here. You don't always need to be waiting for me to return."

Grimacing, he wouldn't look in her eyes when he said, "I didn't realize what you felt like… when I left a year ago. It had been my choice – my decision. It never occurred to me it could feel like this."

Finally he asked, "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," she replied, and before his eyes had a chance to dim, she lightly laid her lips across his, whispered, "When will you come to visit me?" and felt him smile.

Standing away from him, her face turned somber. "We used to talk," she said, and shook her head.

"We haven't really talked in months," he concurred, "we lost that in the desert."

"I want to get back to really saying things to you," she told him, walking back into his open embrace. Closing her eyes and leaning her head on his shoulder, she whispered, "I missed you long before I left."

"I'm happy you're here," he sighed. His face set in a frown, when he added, "How you knew I needed this – you – I couldn't even begin to understand." Suddenly producing out her cell phone, Sara dialed her voice mail, and held it up to Grissom's ear. His eyebrows shot up at the sound of Greg's voice, and all he could say was, "Well… hmm…" As Sara laughed, Grissom couldn't decide whether he was more embarrassed by his attitude at work or by the fact that Greg had more guts in talking to Sara than himself.

Sara grinned when she said, "Your ears are red," and kissed him.

By mutual unspoken agreement, the rest of the night went the same as a typical night in the Grissom residence. Quietly, Sara curled up on the couch and read a forensics journal, while Grissom ensconced himself in his office for awhile to research bees. Later in bed, Sara whipped Grissom at Gin, and he challenged her to a game of strip poker.

Lying naked, while he remained fully clothed, Sara laughed, "Why do I let you talk me into this?" He smirked, "I believe you've beaten me at strip Gin Rummy on more than one occasion."

"But you're way overdressed, Dr. Grissom, for the kind of activity I'd like to have right now," she said, stretching her arms and sighing with a grin. Standing, he stripped off his clothes and joined her. Their hands gently roamed and stroked, heating skin and blood. When her head tipped back, he let his mouth follow the line of her throat, dipping between her breasts, his hands gently rubbing the peaks.

As her eyes glazed over, he raised himself over her. Gradually entering her, he felt her breath against his skin as his gentle thrusts drove a burning heat through them both. Slowly and rhythmically they tumbled into the abyss. Holding onto one another, hands and bodies entwined, they fell into the most restful sleep they'd had in ages.

Taking her to the airport was difficult for them, as they had to say goodbye again. "I hated the way I left," Sara murmured, as they stood outside security. Sighing, he hugged her quickly and said, "As did I."

Patting the roundtrip ticket in his coat pocket, Grissom smiled, and said, "But I'll see you in three weeks, and I'll call you tonight."

Looking into his eyes, Sara said, "I think I'm starting to understand some things about myself, Gil. I want you to be a part of that – even if it's with short visits and phone calls."

"I better go," she whispered, and kissed him quickly. As she lined up to walk through security, Sara turned her head back to him, and laughed, "Three weeks."

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A/N – Okay… see the little button down there? Please be nice and press it, because I like hearing from people. People who press it are nice people. Are you a nice person? If you are, please press the review button.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N – Okay, I hope you like the chapter. Like I said in earlier chapters, I'm trying to write case files. I'm kind of teaching myself, so… if it sucks, sorry. If you like it, let me know. Thanks to everyone for the kind reviews so far. Keep 'em coming:)

A/N 2 – Here's a stupid piece of trivia. The title for the darn story actually came into existence, because as I was thinking of this story, I was contemplating whether or not I wanted to make chocolate truffles. The only problem with that (besides the fact that it's time consuming, and trying to keep four kids out of it would be a royal pain) is that I'd have to temper the chocolate. Hence… Tempered. Plus, I wanted to write a story about an exhausted, emotionally voided Grissom. A couple of months working doubles seven days a week is liable to make anyone cranky.

Disclaimer – If I write them a little OOC, do I really need to worry about being sued? At that point, they're only names. Okay, maybe I do. Fine. Please don't sue me, I've gotta feed four kids, two dogs, and a husband.

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As Grissom walked down the halls of the lab the next night, reading through the incoming cases, he was getting irritated. _Finally have the ability to really sleep and relax, and it looks like I'm going to pull a damn double_, he thought to himself, frowning. He held two 419s and a B&E in his hand.

Unfortunately, Greg saw him coming and noticed the frown on his face. _Shit, Sara didn't get the message_, he thought, and resigned himself to another crappy shift. It wasn't until the men had nearly passed that he heard Grissom's quiet, "Sara says thanks," and saw the quick grin on the older man's face. The scowl came back full force when Grissom glanced back down at the slips in his hand.

As Greg walked down the hall, he smiled to himself. Miracles really did happen.

After a quick stop in his office, Grissom made his way to the break room. Upon entering, he said, "Greg, I'm giving you a solo B&E tonight. Nick, Warrick – I've got a DB in a residence. Vega is on scene already. Catherine, you and I have a DB in an alley off the strip. Brass is waiting for us."

Nick grabbed the paper out of Grissom's hand, and he and Warrick argued their way out of the break room. "No way, man. I've got the address, so _I'm_ driving. Besides, you're just scary." Shaking his head, Grissom looked over at Catherine and said, "I'll meet you in my office in a couple of minutes." Handing her the assignment slip, she headed out.

Alone in the break room, Grissom looked at Greg, until Greg became so uncomfortable, he squirmed. As seconds ticked by slowly, and seconds turned to minutes, Greg's anxiety level increased, forcing him to shift from foot to foot. Grissom just stared at the young CSI, until he felt his point had been made. Finally, Grissom said, "Meet me in DNA," turned, and left the room. Greg stood there for a few heartbeats, knowing that if he ever interfered again, his boss could find many ways to make his life very uncomfortable. Finally finding his legs, Greg rushed after Grissom.

In the DNA lab, Wendy worked on a backlog of DNA samples, while secretly reading a novel under her desk. Only a couple of other people knew she kept a book hidden away for slow days. Unfortunately, it was slow going while she waited for the DNA to run through the equipment, so she was reading when Grissom walked in.

His raised eyebrows at the sight of her snapping the novel closed had her face flushing pink, and she winced. "Grissom. Sir. Grissom," She stammered. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself, _I'm a good employee, and I do a great job here_, before continuing more steadily, "I'm waiting on some results. If reading in here is a problem, I can certainly take it to the break room. However, staying in here is often more efficient."

Raising his hand, Grissom said, "It is fine. Actually, I saw your application to take the exams to be a CSI." Looking around the lab, he asked, "Do you have a lot to do tonight?"

"Actually, no," she replied. Using her hand, she pointed to the waiting samples and said, "These are all day shift backlog. I just have to finish the reports for the samples currently in process, and they should be done in another five to ten minutes."

Grissom looked at Greg and quietly asked, "Do you have any problem taking Wendy into the field with you?" Greg smiled, shook his head, and said, "Nope. No problem at all."

When Grissom looked back at Wendy, her face had broken into a grin, and the flush of embarrassment he'd seen earlier was replaced with a look of excitement. "Do you want to observe Greg on a B&E?" he asked. When she laughed "Yes!", Grissom nodded once and left the two of them. On his way out the door, he turned back to warn them, "If anyone comes in with DNA, you may get called back. Be prepared to hightail it back to the lab at any time."

Entering his lab, he found Catherine waiting for him. He'd been hesitant to pair himself with her, knowing she'd likely say something to make him uncomfortable. However, he knew from years of experience that she'd find a way to say it to him anyway. So he bided his time. He didn't have to wait long.

"You look more relaxed," Catherine said in the car. Turning in the passenger seat to look at him a little more clearly, she said, "You look a LOT more rested." Grissom did little more than nod in acknowledgement, but Catherine wasn't satisfied. Huffing out a small breath, she added, "Don't let yourself get that tired again, Gil."

Grabbing their kits, the two senior CSIs made their way to the alley, and under the crime scene tape. Brass met them halfway to the body and gave them the stats.

"The first victim is Allison Trowler. According to her driver's license, she's from Boise, Idaho. The body was checked by the paramedics, but not moved. The second vic is also from Boise, Idaho. His name is James Brickman. He died en route to Desert Palms." Pausing, Brass sighed, and continued, "Her purse looks like it was rifled through, and his wallet was found next to his body."

"Tourists," Catherine stated, frowning. Without another word, Catherine and Grissom set to work collecting evidence.

On the other side of town, Nick and Warrick met Vega at the front door of a typical three bedroom home. The detective didn't need to point them towards the body, as it lay sprawled in the entry way. Quickly, Vega gave them the stats.

"The vic's name is Megan Spears. A neighbor thought she heard yelling, so she called it in. Patrol came in and found the door unlocked. When no one answered, they opened it and found this."

Carefully sidestepping the large pool of blood on the linoleum, Nick and Warrick entered the house. "We've got blood splatter on the wall next to the door." Looking on the inside of the door, he continued, "It looks like the door was shut – the blood splatter continues across it.

Kneeling next to the body, Warrick snapped pictures. Looking up at Nick, he said, "It looks like the jugular was cut."

Nick looked around the entryway again, and placed his kit in the arched doorway to the living room. "If you'll take the body, I'll take the house," he said. At Warrick's absent nod, Nick pulled open his kit and began to work.

Catherine and Grissom made it back to the lab long before Nick and Warrick. Greg beat them there by hours. The B&E had ended up being a case of sheer stupidity on behalf of the person breaking and entering. The suspect had ended up leaving fingerprints absolutely everywhere, including on the hammer used to break the window. After being picked up, Wendy watched through the one-way mirror as Greg presented the evidence to the suspect and his lawyer, and the suspect cracked.

While the bodies were being processed in the morgue, Catherine and Grissom went to the layout room to examine the items they'd logged into evidence. Opening the two brown bags, Catherine pulled out dozens of smaller baggies.

"What does the evidence say," Grissom murmured. Walking around the table, he continued, "Allison Trowler has long blond hair. James Brickman has short dark blond hair. The hair we found on Allison's sweater is nearly black. The handkerchief we found next Brickman's body contains blood. We need to get those to DNA. She carried a small leather purse and wallet. The wallet is empty of everything but her ID. However, there are several pieces of expensive jewelry sitting in there."

Catherine put in, "Anyone after cash would have just taken the whole purse – not just gone through the wallet." Picking up the hair samples, Catherine looked at the clock and said, "Shift ended a couple of hours ago. We still need to wait for the bodies and DNA to come back with results for the hair."

"You're right," Grissom said. Catherine delivered the samples to DNA, then came back and helped Grissom load the evidence into a secured locker. As they parted in the hallway, heading towards their respective offices, Grissom said, "Call it a night. We'll look at it fresh tomorrow."

When Nick and Warrick walked in, they were tired and dragging in bag after bag of evidence. Setting up in another evidence room, they pulled out all of the plastic baggies of evidence.

"Okay, let's do a review," Warrick said. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, and said, "I'm feeling a bit loopy. Why don't you take it."

"You're not taking the pills, are you?" Nick asked, and Warrick barked a laugh. Sighing once again, Warrick replied, "No. But I'm still having trouble sleeping. The divorce is turning out to be a little harder than I expected." Rubbing his eyes, he quietly said, "Tina's pregnant."

When Nick's eyebrows shot up, he just said, "Okay." Looking back at the evidence table, he began to arrange the plastic baggies, thinking about Warrick's words. "You know, Warrick, why don't we start hanging out more," Nick offered. When Warrick shook his head, Nick continued, "Look, it's not pity. It's friendship. Face it, we used to hang out all the time before you got married."

Warrick leaned back against a counter, and studied the Texan. Nick had always been a good friend to him. However, when he'd been kidnapped, it had terrified Warrick, and if he were being honest with himself, made him pull back from that friendship. Deciding to take the right step this time, Warrick smiled and said, "You know, that actually sounds good."

Looking at the clock, Nick said, "Shift was over hours ago. What do you say we get the hair and fiber samples to analysis and grab a bite to eat." Warrick smiled back when he said, "Sounds like a plan to me."

The two worked side-by-side pulling out the evidence that needed to go to Trace and DNA. While Nick dropped off blood and hair samples to DNA, and some fibers to Trace, Warrick packed the evidence into a locker and shut it down for the night. Meeting Nick in the hall, they headed to Frank's for a bite to eat, and then home for rest.

When Grissom got home, he went next door to the "sitter" and picked up Hank. The dog immediately went into the bedroom and jumped up on the bed, searching for Sara again. This part of the routine Grissom hated, because it reminded him she wasn't there. Grabbing the leash off the dresser, the boxer bounded back down, tail wagging. He laughed at the dog's antics, because he could almost hear the dog thinking, _Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk._ Smiling, he headed out and down the street, with Hank at his side, knowing he'd be talking to her again that night, as agreed.

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A/N – Okay, you know the drill. Click the handy review button and let me know what you think. THANKS!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N – Okay, this chapter is fun. It's short, though. Sorry about that. I'm really getting into writing the case files and such. Anyway, please read and review. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer – Eeney, meeney, miney, moe – Catch a disclaimer by the toe.

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Grissom woke around nine o'clock that night when he smelled the horrific breath and felt the tongue running up his face. Moaning, he reached over and smacked the dog with a pillow, then looked at the clock and realized it was almost time to get up, anyway. Feeling rested and rather energetic, he grabbed a quick shower, smiling at the memory of their last shower together, and made his way back to the bedroom and dressed.

Picking up the phone, he dialed her number.

"Hello, Gilbert," she said in way of greeting. He could practically hear her smile on the other end of the line.

"Sara," he said on a breath, and in a stronger voice continued, "Thanks for leaving the message about arriving safe."

Sitting back down on the bed, he tied his shoes, holding his cell to his ear as he listened to her speak. The animation in her voice had him grinning. "I went to the wharf today and wandered the shops. I'd forgotten how I love to just walk down there." Her voice changed to wistful as she added, "Since I got here, I've been such a jumbled mass of confusion. I immediately dove head first into the shallow end, and felt broken and unsure of myself." Her voice became stronger when she said, "I think I'm starting to truly understand why I'm here."

"I'm glad," he softly said. He wanted was her to be happy, but he realized he wanted it, as well. The only way to do that was to be honest with her. They'd learned over time to talk… her more than him, but even back then she'd been able to pull words from him. The talking had stopped, and they'd both withdrawn.

Taking what he thought was a positive step forward, he said, "I miss you already. I'm happy you are dealing with your demons, and I applaud the guts it takes, but I really miss you, honey."

He heard her sigh, right before she whispered, "I miss you, too."

The couple sat there in blissful silence for a minute, before Sara pressed him with, "Tell me about what you're working on."

For several minutes, Grissom told her about the woman in the alley, and the man that died in the ambulance. He could just about _see_ the frown of concentration on her face. Those who didn't know her would think she was in a perpetually bad mood. However, the team knew that if Sara's forehead was scrunched up, she was concentrating.

Grissom chuckled when he said, "You're not going to solve the case from there, and with no results from DNA or Trace, dear."

Once the laughter died down, Sara asked, "Did you thank Greg for me?" and Grissom gruffly replied, his voice extremely quiet, "Yes, I did." From his tone, Sara surmised he'd been uncomfortable at best, and possibly embarrassed. She knew better than to ask if his ears had turned red.

The fact that he'd hugged her so publicly and gladly accepted the quick kiss in the airport had been about the most public affection as he'd ever shown… well, except when she'd kissed him before she left the first time.

For awhile longer, they spoke. She told him of more places she'd visited since her return to San Francisco. He told her about Hank deciding he was an alarm clock, and waking him up five minutes before the buzzer with a big slurping tongue to the face. The chuckling died down, though, when they said their goodbyes. As he hung up, though, Grissom was still smiling.

He stopped off to pick up assignment slips, and found nothing waiting. It looked like swing had closed off any open cases, so he made his way to the DNA lab. Seeing Wendy through the window, he stepped in and asked, "How did yesterday go?"

When she grinned, her cheeks flushed, and she said, "It was great. It felt… freeing… to be out of here for a few hours." Lowering her voice, she added, "Sometimes the walls feel like they're closing in on me." Looking around, she murmured, "I live in a world that's getting smaller every day." He remembered hearing similar words from Greg once, when he'd been the DNA tech.

"Oh!" she suddenly jumped from the stool she sat on. "I have your results right here, but there's something strange." At Grissom's inquiring look, she continued, "I processed DNA from the hairs found at your scene, and at Nick and Warrick's scene. It's the same DNA. Plus, I analyzed the DNA from the bloody handkerchief, and it came up as Brickman's. I didn't find anyone else's on it. Finally, I ran the DNA of the victims, and came up with quite a few common epithelial. It looks like the female vic at your crime scene is related to the vic at Nick and Warrick's crime scene. I'd say siblings."

As Grissom read through the reports, he absently started to walk out of the DNA lab. He barely got a step before he turned, and said, "If you're serious about moving out of the lab, talk to Greg. He can give you a good perspective on what to expect." With that, Grissom headed towards the break room.

Once everyone was gathered, waiting for assignments or instructions, Grissom let them know what Wendy had found. In conclusion, he said, "So, it looks like we're working the same case." Looking around the room, he figured the best way to break up the assignments. "Nick, I want you to head back to the house for another look around. Greg, go with him – give him a fresh set of eyes. It hasn't been released yet. Warrick, Catherine – go back to the evidence. I'm going to the morgue to see what Al's come up with." With that, everyone headed out.

In the morgue, Robbins first pulled out the body of Allison Trowler. Starting at the top, he started the description, "Female victim. Twenty years of age. Naturally blond hair. She appears healthy, except that she's dead. On further examination, I found a deep puncture wound at the base of the skull, which broke the third vertebrae in the neck. She died almost instantly from the break, but still lost a good deal of blood. The TOD would be between eleven and when they were found at eleven forty five."

"The puncture wound looks circular," Grissom murmured, peering at the wound, his face just inches away. Putting on his glasses, he took a closer look. "We're looking for something close to an ice pick." Standing back, Grissom watched Robbins put the body back in the drawer, and pull out the next one.

"She didn't have any defense wounds," Robbins said, and Grissom commented to himself, "She was taken by surprise."

"This one's a little different," Robbins said. He pulled out the next body. "James Brickman, 23 years old, and again blond hair. The reason I say it's different is that there's a great deal of bruising all over the body, and there are multiple puncture wounds on the chest, consistent with the weapon that killed the girl. If you look at his hands, there are defensive wounds." Looking up, he added, "I took scraping from the fingernails. DNA should be processing them as we speak. He died from internal injuries." Standing back from the body, Robbins looked Grissom in the eye when he said, "Whoever did this viciously beat and stabbed him to death."

Putting the young man back into the drawer, Robbins opened up a third drawer. Standing over the body, he described her. "Meagan Spears, light brown hair. She saw this coming. There's no bruising, so whatever the perp did, he did it quickly, and in the end punctured her jugular. I've got a similar wound as found on the other two. Deep puncture – circular – thin." Looking at Grissom, Robbins stretched his back and commented, "Or as you said – something akin to an ice pick. Her TOD was between ten and eleven o'clock last night."

"Thanks, Al," Grissom said, gathering up the reports.

As he made his way towards his office, he was stopped by Hodges. "Hey, boss, I've got Warrick's results right here," he said. "Then why aren't you giving them to Warrick?" Grissom asked. Smiling now, Hodges replied, "I happened to see you, and I know your cases are linked, so… the fibers you found on the female victim at the house are multi-colored and wool. I was able to research the pattern and found that they match a fabric used to make heavy wool shirts. It's one of the more expensive brands, as well." With a flourish, Hodges handed over the report, and smirked, "Let me know if I can help with anything else," before heading back into the Trace lab.

Nick and Greg returned shortly, toting a plastic mold of a shoe impression. "We got a print," Nick said. Smiling, he added, "Greg found it next to a window on the side of the house. It looks like a size twelve male shoe. I called Doc Robbins and he said it's too big to be from our victim."

"Nick, I want you to start putting together an evidence board in the layout room. Put up pictures… reports… everything," Grissom said. Looking at Greg, he added, "I want you to start writing up a timeline. Also, let Catherine and Warrick know that if they want a lunch break, they need to take it now. We've got someone who viciously killed three people running around Vegas. We won't be breaking before we find the suspect or suspects."

"We'll meet in the layout room in an hour," Grissom said over his shoulder, making his way to his office. Opening his email, he smiled as he found a message, and laughed over the fact that his techno-geek Sara _finally_ got her computer set up.

_To: GGrissom_

_From: SGrissom_

_Got a call from Ecklie. He finally read the signature on my leave of absence form. Watch out._

_Love, Sara_

Grissom didn't know whether to laugh or groan. It was going to be a very long night.

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A/N – Did you know that if you drink enough Mountain Dew, your spirit leaves your body and you float blissfully above yourself, while you physically become a marionette? I'm pulling strings and watching my arms and fingers type away. Let your spirit take control – hit the review button. If you can't, then drink more Mountain Dew.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N – Okay, here's the end of the case file. I hope you enjoy it. I may not be writing anything for a couple of days, as I need to finish up the Christmas shopping and stuff.

Disclaimer – I'm running out of original disclaimers, so I'm putting this in instead.

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By the time everyone drifted into the layout room, Grissom had already re-read all the reports, and examined the evidence available. He felt his cell phone vibrate, and he checked the caller ID. Seeing Ecklie's name pop up for the second time, Grissom hit the button sending the lab director to his voice mail.

As he walked around the table, he stopped here and there to look at the evidence. The table itself was broken down into two sections, each end containing the contents retrieved from the crime scenes.

"I've got Hodges running an analysis on the shoe print," he informed them, as they stood in the doorway, watching him. When he straightened and turned back to his team, they piled in and took up positions around the table.

"Okay, Greg. Walk us through it," Grissom said. Prompting him towards the evidence board with a wave of his hand, Grissom stepped back to stand alongside Nick.

"I can get a start, but I'm waiting for some reports," Greg said, then murmured, "And here they come."

Brass entered the room quickly, and said, "I've got your information, Greg."

Smiling, he said, "Thanks, Brass." Greg flipped open the folder and scanned the pages. Stepping back he approached the board again, and explained what Brass brought him.

"The first victim, Megan Spears is divorced, and her husband currently lives in Denver. She died between ten and eleven o'clock. We know the weapon is something like an ice pick. She was killed in the entryway of her home, and from the angle of the blood splatter, it looks like the perp stabbed her while standing behind her and to the side," Greg explained, pointing to the picture of Megan.

Moving onto the next picture, Greg said, "About ten miles away, Megan Spears' sister Allison Trowler was murdered between eleven and eleven thirty. Since she didn't show any defensive wounds, she was probably attacked first, and from behind. It appears the same weapon used to kill Megan killed Allison."

Stepping to the third picture, Greg finished the timeline. "James Brickman was brutally beaten, after Allison was stabbed. He showed defensive wounds, and DNA was retrieved from under the fingernails. However, Wendy did not get a hit in CODIS. While he was stabbed repeatedly, it was the extreme beating that killed him."

Brass stepped forward and pulled out his pocket-size notebook and flipped a couple through a few pages. Addressing the team, he said, "According to Allison Trowler's mother, she and her boyfriend James Brickman came down here to get married. Allison called her mother at nine o'clock to say they'd gotten married at a small chapel. They had a celebratory dinner with her sister a couple of hours prior to the wedding at the Bellagio. They've been staying with Allison's sister Megan since they arrived."

Sighing, he continued, "She told me her daughter was thrilled, and kept referring to herself as Mrs. Brickman."

In front of the team, Brass said, "When I asked Mrs. Trowler about enemies, she said Allison didn't have an enemy in the world – just a sweet girl marrying her sweetheart."

The mood shifted, though, and his face hardened, when he added, "But lately she's had a secret admirer. Shortly after the boyfriend proposed, Allison started getting letters and notes on her desk. They weren't threatening, but they were enough to freak her out. At one point, she outright called off the wedding, and told Mr. Brickman she wouldn't marry him. The kids was scared stiff."

"Stalker," Nick murmured.

"Exactly," Brass said, addressing the Texan. He added, "The problem is that they were never able to identify the stalker. They never found fingerprints, and the paper and ink were too common to identify."

Blowing out a breath, Catherine said, "It's possible whoever was stalking her there followed her here."

In the short pause, as they all considered the possibility, Hodges knocked on the door. Without waiting for a prompt, he said, "You're looking for Nikes. In particular, you're looking for this shoe." Handing Grissom a picture of the shoe in question, he waited, until the boss said, "Thank you. I'll let you know if we need anything else," and promptly dismissed the Trace tech.

Grissom stepped forward at this point and said, "Nick, Catherine, Warrick – take Brass and head over to the Bellagio. Greg, you and I are going to head over and try to retrace their steps from the moment Allison called her to the time she died."

Turning back to the board, Grissom looked at the pictures. "There's something there," he said.

While Grissom waited for a semi-inebriated couple to finish making their relationship in the small chapel just off the strip, he was happy he'd had the good sense to choose someplace a little less tacky. Tacky did not necessarily have to mean Elvis or aliens. Tacky could also be defined by the rotating silver disco ball hanging from the ceiling that currently had Greg mesmerized.

The "minister" that married the couple described them as a happy, bubbly couple. He'd been doting, while she'd looked at him with nothing but adoration. "Sometimes you get a good feeling about a couple you marry," the minister said.

"Do you know where they were heading after this?" Grissom asked. When they realized the minister wasn't going to provide them anything useful, Grissom and Greg started walking in the direction of the place where the victims had been found.

"Why would they walk?" Greg mused.

"They were just married – they'd been here for a couple of days, and had excited energy. She probably thought it was romantic to walk along, holding hands in the night below the lights of the casinos," Grissom said out loud. He remembered how Sara had wanted to walk with him in a local park, holding hands, and occasionally stopping to just hold for the first hour after they'd gotten married. Of course, they'd only had a few hours for the whole thing – they'd gone back to work that day.

Turning back to Greg, Grissom said, "Let's head over to the Bellagio and see if the others have come up with anything." As they made their way to the Denali, Grissom's cell phone buzzed again. Noticing Ecklie's ID, he sent the man to voice mail yet again.

While Grissom and Greg were busy at the chapel, the rest of the team descended on the Bellagio's security office. The video technician began reviewing footage. It helped they had it isolated to within a three to four hour time frame, but it was still a great deal of footage to go through.

Their luck picked up when a young security guard came in to check out for the night. When he asked someone else on shift what was going on, he made his way over to the video tech. "Hey, Max. I think I can tell you a timeframe for the party," the young man announced.

Turning, Max asked, "Give it to me, Davie."

Scrunching his forehead, Davie closed his eyes and thought back before saying, "Okay, I remember the three of them in the Café at around five o'clock, when I took a break to get some coffee. They were laughing and sharing a bottle of champagne." Opening his eyes, he said, "They looked very happy, and were toasting their impending marriage."

As the video tech tapped on the keyboard and brought up the video, Davie continued with, "Check the tables on the south floor at around six forty-five. They were playing blackjack when I did my rounds. I remembered them from the Café and stopped to say congratulations."

By the time Davie finished his explanation, the tech had pulled up the video footage clearly showing the trio. They watched as the couple toasted, each member of the team examining the background. On a second screen, the tech found the trio playing poker at a table.

"Are you seeing that?" Warrick murmured. When everyone looked at him, he pointed out a dark haired man on both screens. In one, he was wearing a blue shirt and jeans, but he'd put on a tan jacket and wore a hat in the other. "Ignore the clothes," he explained, "and look at the build and the hair. He made some basic clothing changes, but it's the same guy."

When Grissom and Greg arrived, Nick brought them up-to-date.

"Let's see if we can get a picture of his face," Catherine said, leaning over the tape. "Right there!" she exclaimed.

"Print it out," Brass said.

By the time they left, the team had a crisp image of their suspect. By the time they arrived at the laboratory, Brass had already transmitted an electric copy of the image to dispatch. He knew the picture was being distributed to all the patrols and casinos in the area.

As they walked back into the layout room, Brass tacked the printout of the suspect up on the board. After that, things seemed to move swiftly. While everyone took a short break to get a cup of coffee, the call came in from hotel security, and Brass went to pick up the suspect.

Grissom and Nick met Brass outside the interrogation room at LVPD, while Catherine, Warrick, and Greg headed over to the suspect's hotel.

"His name is Barry Ellison from Boise, Idaho," he said, handing a file to Grissom. While Grissom read through the stats, he continued, "He works in the same office as Allison. And if I'm not mistaken, he's wearing the shoes in question."

Grissom and Brass walked back through the door of interrogation, with Grissom sitting directly across from the suspect, and Brass taking a seat at the end of the table.

"Mr. Ellison," Grissom casually said, "I have a warrant to take a sample of your DNA." Without preamble, the swab was taken, and handed out to Nick, who rushed it over to the lab.

"Why don't you tell us what happened," Brass said, casually.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ellison said.

"Come on, we both know what happened," Brass said. "You wanted her – she didn't want you. Hey, _I'm_ a guy. I get it." Standing up, he stood behind Grissom when he added, "I just don't get why you had to kill the sister."

When Ellison began to stare at the table top, Grissom said, "You do understand you left evidence behind, don't you? What do you think we're going to find when we compare your DNA against the hair you left behind or the skin under the boyfriend's fingernails?"

Ellison refused to say a word. For over an hour, Grissom and Brass went back and forth, until the suspect finally looked up and said, "You know… I think I want a lawyer."

While they waited for the public defender to arrive, Brass and Grissom sat in the hall. It was early afternoon, and they were both tired. When Grissom's phone rang again, and he sent it to voice mail, Brass looked at him quizzically.

"Ecklie," was all Grissom said.

Once the attorney arrived, Brass and Grissom started again, but this time they didn't have to wait long. They were into yet another round of _we know you did it, you know you did it, why don't you just admit it_ when Grissom stepped out to take Nick's call.

"We've got a match," Nick quickly said. "He's our guy."

Before he'd even had a chance to head back into interrogation, the clincher call came in from Catherine.

"We found what we think is the murder weapon. We also found a bloody blue shirt and jeans. They were in a dumpster less than a block from the hotel," Catherine informed him.

Stepping back into the room, Grissom just smiled at Brass.

Walking out of interrogation, Brass smiled smugly. When he reached the doorway, he paused, turned around and smiled as he said, "We just tied you to the murder scene with your DNA."

While the attorney started to ask for a deal, Brass just laughed, "Are you kidding me? He wasn't all that bright, or he would've thrown out his clothes and the murder weapon a mile away instead of a few hundred yards from where he was staying." Looking Ellison in the eye, Brass quietly said, "Not smart enough to get away with murder… obviously not even smart enough to get the girl."

As Brass left the room, Ellison started screaming at the top of his lungs. It started with, "She's nothing but a whore," and ended when the lawyer demanded time with his client.

The length of the day and turmoil of the case finally taken its toll, as Brass took Grissom back to the lab. On the way, the detective explained that it while the case was solid, more evidence might be coming in over the next couple of days. The Idaho police were searching the suspect's apartment as he spoke.

Grissom rubbed his gritty eyes as they entered his office, and found the team ensconced, and half dead. They were sprawled all over the place, obviously waiting to hear details of what had happened.

While Brass gave them a blow-by-blow, Grissom flipped on his computer, and found an email message waiting for him.

_To: GGrissom_

_From: SGrissom_

_Ecklie called me again. Stop sending him to voice mail. I don't want to deal with him, either._

_Love, Sara_

Shutting his eyes, he knew Brass was done, because the room was very quiet. Everyone was contemplating the events of the last couple of days – the couple whose lives had been cut short so early into their marriage, and the sister who was there to stand as witness. All of them recognized the value of what this young couple would have offered. Each of them felt a loss or regret on their behalf, but would put it away when they walked out the door.

Unfortunately, Grissom didn't even notice Ecklie standing in the doorway, until the man walked bluntly stated, "You're avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you, Conrad," Grissom said, wearily – the fatigue setting in full force. "I'm just not answering your phone calls."

Conrad Ecklie looked around the room at the very tired graveyard shift. "I wanted to say good job to you and your team for solving the cases. I know you've put in a lot of hours over the past couple days," Ecklie said, making sure to look at each person on the team.

"Is that all?" Grissom asked, thinking maybe he got lucky and Ecklie would let the other thing go.

"Have you talked to Sara?" he asked after studying the graveyard shift's leader, and Grissom gazed balefully at the director

"Yes, I've talked to Sara," Grissom finally replied.

Looking around the room, Ecklie's irritation with the Grissom finally got the best of him. Instead of laying into Grissom for not telling him about the marriage, Ecklie decided to get a little bit of revenge.

His smile widening, Ecklie turned to leave, but not before he loudly commented, "Well, the next time you talk to your wife, tell her I said hello."

Only one other time had Grissom seen that particular look on his team's faces – when he'd opened his mouth and talked about Sara being the only person he loved. Showing no reaction, Grissom grabbed his jacket, calmly said good night to his team, and headed home. He figured he could get a couple of hours of sleep before shift started again.

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A/N – Okay, I wrote a nice long chapter. Surely that deserves a nice long review, right? I don't want to have to resort to the Mountain Dew from the last chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N – Okay, this is a short chapter. It's hard to write anything when your eight year old son has put the image of Super Thermal Underwear Man from the Undie World in your head (especially after the graphic description of how he shoots underwear from his sleeve as his weapon of choice).

Disclaimer – This chapter is too short to really need one, right?

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Grissom managed to get a few hours sleep, but all of it fitful. He'd started off in a blissful state of nothingness, and ended up jolting alert as he began dreaming of that young couple. On a sigh, he decided there wasn't any use dwelling, so he got up and took a shower. Standing under the spray, he tried to wash the aching fatigue away. With little fuss or energy, he headed into work.

"Okay guys," Grissom said, standing in the doorway of the break room, "it's going to be a very slow day." Looking around the room, he added, "Finish up any paperwork and log your outstanding reports. If things don't pick up, I'll start sending you home." On a sigh, he said, "If you need me, I'll be in my office."

Warrick and Catherine immediately headed out to take care of their own paperwork, while Greg contemplated how tired he felt. "So, any chance Grissom will send us home soon – like in the next two minutes?" he asked Nick, the only other remaining occupant.

When he only received a grunt in reply, Greg figured Nick had similar thoughts. As the two men lay sprawled in chairs, half asleep, Greg was surprised to hear Nick finally put a sentence together.

"So… married. Figures," Nick muttered.

Laughing, and starting to feel a little more than punchy, Greg opened his eyes and said, "For some strange reason I'm not the least bit surprised."

His own eyes popping open, Nick frowned for a moment, and said, "Funny. It doesn't surprise me either."

Meanwhile, the man in question sat in his office trying to focus on paperwork. With blurry eyes, Grissom decided enough was enough. Dropping the outstanding paperwork on the corner of his desk, he checked his outstanding emails. There were three generic messages from the sheriff's office, one from Ecklie's secretary reminding him that budget reports were due next week, and four from the IT department warning that the systems were going to be down for five minutes for an upgrade of the computer systems.

After hitting the delete key a few times, Grissom paused. Hitting the New email button, he composed.

_To: SGrissom_

_From: GGrissom_

_Sara, as I am sitting in my office, I'm pretty sure we're back to being the talk of the lab. Ecklie asked me to say hello to my wife. Of course, he made the comment in front of the entire team. At least this time it's wasn't my big mouth. _

_I miss you and can't wait to see you._

_Love, Gil_

_P.S. – Does Greg often sleep in the lab? I think he was wearing the same shirt yesterday._

After hitting Send, he picked up the latest National Forensics Journal. An hour later, Grissom dropped the journal on his desk and wandered to the break room. It took everything he had not to smirk at the sight of Nick lightly snoring and Greg inhaling coffee and yawning.

"Go home, guys," Grissom said, his voice startling them from half dead to alert. With that, he left his guys to figure out how to get their listless bodies to their feet and out the door.

He would later blame it on fatigue when Grissom voluntarily sat down in a vacant chair in Catherine's office, without having a specific case to discuss. "I just sent Nick and Greg home, so let's hope we don't get anything tonight," he said. For a few minutes, Catherine just watched her colleague – someone she considered a confidant.

"You've never been much to talk about what's going on in your life," Catherine said. When Grissom's normally passive face showed just the slightest hint of a frown, she continued, "You've given each of us a little glimpse on occasion." She shook her head when she laughed, "Sara's just as bad."

"Is there a point to this, Cath?" Grissom asked, blandly.

"No," she smirked. "Just making an observation," she said.

Sighing, he rubbed his hand over his eyes, and said, "If you need me, I'll be in my office." Slowly he made his way there, determined to finish off the paperwork on his desk. He found himself in the DNA lab.

"Can I get something for you, Grissom?" Wendy asked, her face a picture of curiosity. She was really thinking, _Did I forget something? Miss something?_ A covert glance around her lab had her features changing to confusion, as she didn't see any outstanding work.

"Actually, no. I wanted to let you know that I read Greg's report on the case you worked with him. He said you were insightful, logical, and consistent," Grissom said, then concluded with, "This information will be added to your application."

When she flushed and said, "Thank you," Grissom quickly made his way out of the DNA lab. Back in his office, Grissom brought up his email, and smiled.

_To: GGrissom_

_From: SGrissom_

_Gil, Someone was bound to find out sometime. I submitted my status change forms to human resources months ago. I'm just surprised it took this long. Please be safe and take care of yourself and Hank. I'll see you soon. _

_Call me tomorrow when you have time. I could use to hear your voice, but not tonight. Right now I need to process a few things I learned today._

_Love, Sara_

_P.S. – Remind Greg NOT to wear the hideous Hawaiian shirt he keeps in his locker and to bring in an extra t-shirt occasions like today. The obnoxious shirt seems to really annoy the boss._

Grissom smiled at the start of the message, but frowned towards the end.

However, at the postscript, he remembered the pink and green shirt of Greg's, and smirked. _It's a good thing I sent him home,_ Grissom thought to himself. With a resigned sigh, he then picked up the paperwork and set to finishing it.

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A/N – It's short… but even short chapters need reviews. Right? Don't let this short chapter feel inadequate by ignoring it. Push the review button.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N – Okay, another short one. Let me know what you think. Please review.

Disclaimer – Germs suck. I have gone from the flu to a cold, and don't care if I get sued right now.

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Feeling the slurping tongue on his face, Grissom rolled away and groaned, "For God's sake Hank, give me a break." He muttered a few choice words, but his eyes seemed to open of their volition. On a sigh, he pushed himself up, hating the fact he was one of those people who once awake had to move.

He smiled, though, when he thought of a waking Sara. When she actually slept, she'd generally groan when the alarm went off, then try to cover her head with the blankets. The death grip hold would turn into a contest of wills as he tried to pull them down and she started moaning her discontent and yanking them back up.

Even when he'd wake her with his hands and mouth on her, she'd wake slowly. More than once, she woke with his name on her lips in a aching whimper.

Deciding to get ready for the day, he showered and picked up his razor. Smiling, he decided to forego the shave. While she didn't generally like it when he let his beard get thick, she loved it when she kept it trimmed close. He loved her reaction when he purposely raked it across her sensitive flesh.

Grabbing a yogurt from the fridge, he laughed. He'd never been fond of the stuff, but Sara had converted him. Plunking down on the couch, he grabbed his cell phone off the coffee table, and hit number one on the speed dial. She picked up on the second ring.

"Hello, Gilbert," she said, a laugh in her voice.

Smiling, he replied, "Hello to you too, honey."

"I miss you," she murmured, before more strongly saying, "It's been an interesting couple of days."

"Tell me about it," he prompted, and heard her sigh. For a moment, he thought she was going to withdraw again and start to say she was fine, but finally she spoke.

"I saw Laura again yesterday. I know I've been visiting with her off and on since I got here, but we never spoke of anything of consequence. Yesterday, she pulled out a photo album, with all these pictures of me as a child."

He could hear the tears forming in her voice, and could imagine them spilling.

As if reading his mind, she laughed, "I've turned into a watering pot. I seem to cry a lot when the mood strikes." With a soft voice, she said, "The pictures – I didn't realize they existed. In them, I'm smiling." Her voice was a bare whisper when she said, "I didn't realize I knew _how_ to smile, Gil. I didn't know there was ever a time that happiness was part of our home."

Wishing more than anything that he could walk through the phone and just hold her, Grissom ached. He hated knowing she had to deal with this. He may have understood why she needed to meet this head-on in her own way; it didn't stop him from wanting to just bring her home, where he could wrap her up and keep her safe.

"You said you wanted a day to think about what you'd learned," he prompted. Trying to find the right words, he finally asked, "Did it help?"

He heard her blow her nose on the other end, right before he heard the quiet overtake her. It amazed him that he could _feel_ her mind working, searching for just the right words, even from that far away. His wife had always radiated her emotions. Sometimes, others on the team felt them – often they missed them. However, Grissom could _always_ feel her emotions or mood. She emitted pulses that he sensed with every wave.

"I used to love them," she suddenly whispered into the silence. With a sniff, she continued, "I didn't remember loving them, but there must be dozens of pictures of my father holding me as a child. He seemed so happy, having me ride on his shoulders. And there are several pictures of him reading to me." On a soft sob, she quietly added, "There's a picture of him dancing with me in the front parlor. My feet were on his. I was five."

Her tone dropped, when she said, "I remembered. When I saw the picture, I remembered. For just a moment, I remembered that it wasn't always hitting." He heard her hiccupping, trying to hold back tears, on the other end, and knew he had no words to help. Instead, he sat and listened, and tried to count her tears from so far away. He couldn't stop this from happening, but he could promise himself to give her comfort when he saw her.

Minutes ticked by, and Grissom listened to the silence, imagining the look on her face. When her voice firmly announced, "No, I'm not going to cry over this," as if she had any control over it, he smiled.

"God, Gil," she whispered, "I feel lost one moment, and then I talk to you, and I feel alive."

"I would give anything for you to not have to feel all of this, sweetheart," he murmured into his cell phone. His tone dropped a touch, when he said, "I'd give anything to just be able to touch you and take you away from it all, even for a moment."

"There are days I want to just come home," she confessed, and added in a stronger tone, "I have to do this, though. I can't keep living my life in the shadows. I'm tired of always hiding."

That tenor of steel in her voice made him smile. "You're the strongest woman I've ever met, Sara," he said. He knew she hated compliments, and could imagine the slight frown settle over her face. She would feel awkward and unsure of how to respond to something she herself did not believe. Deciding to distract her, he smiled and said, "Plus, you're really hot in shorts and a tank top."

The sudden burst of laughter on the other end of the line brought a smile to Grissom's face. When it faded to chuckles, and from chuckles to a settled quiet, Sara said, "Tell me more about the case you were working on – the one with the tourists."

So Grissom told her about a young, happy couple and their marriage. He described the stalker, and how he followed them from their hometown, and killed the happy couple and the bride's sister, a Vegas resident. She could hear the tinge of sadness in his voice, when he talked of the witnesses and how they described the couple.

"It's cases like this, and cases with kids, that I really hate," Grissom said. "They were happy, with a full life ahead of them. They'll never have kids, never go on vacation again, or spend time with family again. Their families will miss them every day. That's the kind of people they were."

"I'm so sorry, Gil," Sara murmured. For now, the shoe was on the other foot. While he talked more about the young couple and the chase to catch their killer, she listened, and imagined his face in the retelling. She could see him rubbing his eyes, as if to wipe away any visual history stored there. When his voice dropped, he could see the fatigue he'd felt while the case was underway. In the quiet that followed, she could see his mind trying to box it all up and put it on a shelf – to disassociate from it so it didn't drag him down.

"You know I love you, Gil," Sara said quietly, "Don't ever forget that, baby."

Smiling, he replied, "I love you, too."

Glancing up at the clock, he grimaced. "I have to go," he said. Looking at Hank waiting piteously beside the door, his leash hanging out of his mouth, Grissom laughed and said, "Besides being an alarm clock, Hank is learning how to walk himself." She was laughing along with him after he described the continuation of the pre-buzz slurp each day, and Hank now grabbing his own leash off the dresser every night before heading to the sitter.

"Just a couple of weeks, honey," Grissom murmured.

"I still miss you," she sighed, a smile in her voice, "and I can't wait to see you."

Quick goodbyes said, Grissom tried not to roll his eyes as the dog bound over, dropped the leash on his lap, and patiently sat, wagging his tail. Laughing, he and the dog head out for their daily walk. He kept thinking _Two more weeks_ and smiled.

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A/N – Please, be kind and give me a review. It might make my cold go away – you never know.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N – Yep, another short one. I have only managed to find small pockets of time to write, so it's about the best I can get out until after the holiday season.

Disclaimer – (Insert Disclaimer Here If You Care)

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There's a twisted kind of irony that within months of Sara leaving, the crime rate drops dramatically. It had been a week and a half since they'd closed the murder case of the couple from Idaho. Grissom let Wendy go into the field again with Greg, and she seemed to be flourishing. In general, the violent crimes had gone way down, with non-violent crimes going up slightly. For the first time in years, the graveyard shift felt at odds with themselves – extended periods of boredom could do that.

When Grissom caught Nick and Warrick playing field hockey in the hallway the first time, he'd given them _that look_. The second time, the look hadn't worked, so he'd sent them to handle a decomp, and the third time had caused a major incident with the under-sheriff. For that reason, Nick was told to go on vacation, and Warrick was reminded on a daily basis that once Nick returned in a few days, it was his turn to take time off.

Catherine seemed to be handling the down time well, but then again, she didn't mind playing politics. She used the slow time to catch up on paperwork, spend time with her daughter, and rally for new equipment. His colleague had always been able to maneuver people to where she wanted them to be. The exception to the rule, of course, was Gil Grissom.

"Come on, Griss," she wheedled a bit, "take a chance. Things are amazingly slow here, so taking a day or two off won't be that big of a deal. God knows, you've got enough vacation time built up." She'd been sitting across from Grissom in his office, while he worked on paperwork, and saying the same thing for nearly ten minutes. When Catherine got bored, this is what _she_ would do – give advice.

Giving up, Grissom raised his head, and sighed. Finally dropping the paperwork, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out an envelope that he dropped in front of her. "Go ahead and open it," he said, resigned.

"Next week, huh?" she asked, her grin going sly. Out of the envelope, she pulled out the flight information for his trip to San Francisco scheduled for the following week.

"Five days, actually," he replied, mentally counting down the time.

Catherine's grin turned to an irritation from when she said, "This is only an overnight trip."

"Actually, the electronic update is for two nights," Grissom informed her.

"I really don't understand the two of you," she sighed, "We missed a lot of signs, although it's easy to see how – you've always had a _connection_ of sorts with her. You rarely show what you're feeling, but we've seen some glimpses, especially when you talk about Sara. It's obvious you love her."

When she watched his face soften the slightest fraction and a smile play on his lips, she had the answer – Grissom might not say the words, but when it came to his wife, he had a terrible poker face. Chuckling, Catherine rose.

"I really do hope things work out for you, Gil," she said, making her way to the door. Stopping for a moment, she turned and added, "You told me after she left that you wanted her to be happy. Don't forget to be happy yourself, either."

Alone with his thoughts, Grissom put the tickets back in his drawer, and pulled up his email. He smiled when he saw it.

_To: GGrissom_

_From: SGrissom_

_Gil, I'm sorry I missed your call last night. I forgot to plug in my cell and the battery went dead. I've spent the last couple of weeks talking to my mother about that night, and about our lives before. It's getting harder. The nightmares are back. Can you come sooner?_

_Love, Sara_

_P.S. – Remind Warrick that if he gets too bored without Nick there, you have a whole hive of bees that you'd like babysat. Tell Greg I'm so proud he's doing such a good job as a mentor. _

The next time Catherine saw Grissom, he was walking out of Ecklie's office.

"Catherine, good. I'm going out of town for potentially a couple of weeks," Grissom informed her. Walking to his office, and expecting her to follow, he turned his head and added, "You are going to be in charge."

"What's going on?" Catherine asked.

Crossing the doorway into his office, Grissom grabbed his jacket and reached into the top drawer, pulling out the familiar envelope. "I'm heading out to California a little early," he said, "and I may be there more than a couple of days."

"Ecklie okayed this?" Catherine asked, surprised.

His face turned hard when he replied, "I didn't give him much choice."

At her surprised look, Grissom stopped for a moment. He knew Catherine would just go ask, and it would end up spreading through the lab if he didn't tell her something, so he said, "I told him I needed up to a couple of weeks off. When he started to argue, I told him either give me the time or find my replacement."

The most telling words he ever said were uttered as Catherine escorted him out the front door to his car.

"You told me to be happy. There's only one person who has ever made me truly happy," Grissom said, his lips turned up in a boyish grin. For the briefest moment of time, Catherine glimpsed something rare and beautiful, as responsibility fell away and his eyes sparked. In that moment, she saw behind the perpetual mask.

Smiling, she walked back into the building.

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A/N – Okay, still have a cold. Woke me up in the wee hours of the morning. I'm not a morning person. Please review, since I'm writing this in the morning, and I'm a tad cranky right now. It'll make me feel better.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N – Still have the cold, but it's slowly getting better. I'm not quite as cranky right now. However, waking up at 3am was not a happy thing. On the other hand, I got the last chapter written, and paved the way for this one. Let me know what you think. Thanks in advance for the reviews.

Disclaimer – I really really want to own the characters, just so I can make them do what I want them to do on the TV screen. Ooh yeah, baby.

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Had he known it would require a stop every two hours or the dog would start howling, Grissom would have had second thoughts about bringing Hank. Having left the lab, Grissom made a quick stop at his house, threw some clothes together, and bundled up the dog's necessities. By six o'clock that morning, he and Hank were on the road.

Stopping only long enough to let Hank out to walk around, he made it to San Francisco in just less than twelve hours. Pulling up a map, he tried to figure out where she was staying. When she'd first gone, Sara had stayed in a hotel. However, after two weeks, Grissom reasoned with her that she'd be more comfortable someplace private, and convinced her to rent an apartment.

Grissom parked and looked at the small building in front of him. He knew she'd rented a small studio apartment, but from the looks of the building he figured it must be the size of a closet. Walking up to the door, with the dog in hand, he hit the buzzer. When he received no response, he hit the buzzer again. Looking down at the dog, whose tongue was now hanging out and looking back quizzically, he murmured, "She must not be home."

Grabbing his cell phone, he dialed her number. She picked up on the first ring.

"Gil," she breathed in relief, "I'm glad you called." Walking onto the front porch, she said, "I'm at my mother's house right now, so it's hard to talk. Can I call you back in a little while?"

"Sara, sweetheart," he murmured in response. He could feel the waves of tension in her voice, and knew what he needed to do. "Stay where you are. I'll be right there," he said, and ended the call. Smiling at the dog, he said, "Let's go rescue mommy, okay?" Hank barked once, sharply, in response.

When he reached the address he'd looked up before leaving Las Vegas, Grissom saw her standing on the front porch, her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. The light from the front porch cast shadows over her, but when she moved into the light, he could see those features he knew so well. For a moment, he got out and stood there. He'd seen her in pain before. When she'd first talked about her parents and growing up in foster care, he'd felt pain pour from her. When his eyes met hers, a surge of exhaustion and ache from her washed over him. It wasn't until Hank began to bound towards her, that a small smile crept up, without reaching her eyes.

Never breaking eye contact, he climbed the steps, until he stood just inches from her. Running his hand across her cheek, he counted and gathered the tears. With Hank trying to pry between their legs, Grissom chuckled, as his mouth closed over hers. This time, when she breathed his name, it was with wonder. "You're here," she murmured. Sara wrapped her arms around his midsection, and leaned onto his shoulder. "When I asked you to come," she said, "I didn't think you'd make it so quickly. I figured you'd come a day or two early."

"I'd do anything for you, honey," he responded. Leaning his face into her hair, he breathed in her scent. The subtle smell of coconut mixed with her natural scent seemed to always sooth him – make him feel more human. With her he always felt… real.

That's how Laura Sidle found them several minutes later. For awhile, she just watched from the window, as the couple held on tight to one another. It wasn't until the dog began to prance about that they shifted, and Sara knelt down to pet Hank. With a mighty slurp to the face, Hank did something Sara wasn't sure could have happened at that particular moment – he made her happy.

"Are you being my little alarm clock?" she asked playfully, scratching just the right spot behind the ears to make him lie down and loll his head.

When Grissom knelt down with her, his hand reached out again to touch her hair. She hadn't straightened it. He knew she preferred it straight, but the curls fascinated him. Given an opportunity, he could and had spent hours just running the strands through his fingers. "You're beautiful," he murmured, before leaning over and kissing her gently.

When the tears threatened to spill again, he pulled her up into his tight embrace, and held. Looking up, he saw Laura standing in the doorway, and pulled slightly away, nodding toward Sara's mother. "I think we have an audience," he softly said, and instantly felt Sara tense.

Turning slowly in his embrace, she smiled edgily at her mother, as Grissom wrapped an arm around her. "Laura, I'd like you to meet my husband, Gil," Sara quietly intoned. Turning her head to see his face, she whispered, "Gil, this is my mother."

Releasing his wife, Grissom made the steps forward to shake her hand. "From what I've seen, you have a nice home here," Grissom said, and suddenly realized it was true. They stood on a lovely, wide wrap-around porch. A bench swing sat at one end, and a couple of comfortable wicker chair were huddled together, with a small table in front of them.

Laura eyed Grissom warily. He could understand the hesitance he saw there, as he was a stranger to her. _I'm closer in age to her mother_, he thought to himself, and oddly enough felt no discomfort at it. Sara was his wife, and as time passed, he came to realize what a significant part she played in his peace of mind. Somewhere in the last couple of years, she'd become his best friend – the one person he could really talk to when things happened. While age may have played a factor years ago, it had meant nothing to him for a long time.

"Please, come back in, Sara," Laura said, "I didn't mean to upset you."

With a harsh laugh, Sara replied, "How was hearing the details of how you killed him not going to upset me?"

Standing behind her, Grissom wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her ear, "Do what you want or can. I'll be here no matter what."

When she turned her head, she murmured, "It's so damn hard. I feel like I'm being shredded into a million little pieces. The more I learn, the more it hurts."

"Let yourself fall apart, honey," Grissom replied, "I'll be here to help you put the pieces back together. All right?"

On her nod, Sara stepped out of his embrace and headed towards the front door. Grissom stood where he was – he didn't want to intrude. Regardless of their marriage, what most people didn't understand was their levels of independence. Sara was her own person, and made her own choices. He was the same. Grissom had understood the desire to seek solace in life, even if meant going it alone, as Sara had chosen.

It wasn't until she stood in the doorway, reached out her hand, and asked, "Are you coming?" that Grissom and Hank walked through the front door.

The interior was warm, with a feeling of comfort permeating the air in direct conflict with the stiff set of the two women's postures. When Sara walked into the living room, she took a seat on a Queen Ann sofa. When Grissom settled himself next to her, he watched Hank wander over in front of the fireplace and lay down, soaking up the heat emitted from the burning logs.

He looked at Laura Sidle, and took notes in his head, like he would at a crime scene. He knew she was in her late fifties, a similar shape of face as Sara, with the same brown eyes. He could see streaks of brown running through the gray curls she adorned. At one point, she probably had the same hair as Sara. She held herself with a grace that surprised him, and had obviously spent a great deal of time trying to develop a sense of serenity in her home. She surrounded herself with antiques meant to create a calming sense of history.

Without a word, Sara reached out and received his hand before looking at her mother, who sat across the coffee table from her. "I want to show him pictures," Sara murmured, using her free hand to scoot the photo album across the coffee table to him. When he released her hand, she became cold. She started to wrap her arms around herself, so he pulled her close, placing her arm around him. "Hold onto me, honey," he whispered into her hair, and picked up the album.

"It has everything in there," Laura said. At his curious look, she added, "Good or… or bad. It's all in there."

There were black and white photos of a beautiful baby, followed by snapshots of her as a toddler. Her hair had been extremely curly, and he could see the laughter drifting from her eyes into the camera. When he traced a finger over the child's face, he bent his head to hers and whispered, "You were beautiful even then. I can see it in those serious eyes." And those eyes _were_ serious. His mother would have called her an old soul.

The next pages had a six year old sporting a cast. When he raised his eyes to hers, she smiled sadly before saying, "I told everyone I fell out of my tree-house. I didn't tell them I lost my jacket, so he grabbed me so hard he broke my arm."

The next page showed Sara, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Page after page, he would see Sara in different settings, sometimes with bruises and sometimes not. More often than not, her face set in a blank, unsmiling expression. "Didn't anyone at your school every say anything?" he asked.

"Remember when this was… back then, nobody could really help. The laws didn't change until after I was part of the system," Sara explained. Thinking back to her teachers, she said, "I remember one teacher that tried to help. She was told to leave it alone by everyone – the school district, my parents, and even the police. That was back before child welfare was considered an important topic."

Grissom had been raised by a loving mother, and until he was nine, he'd had a father that doted on him. Being the child of a deaf parent, and a book worm had naturally made him something of an outsider. However, he'd always been cherished in his family. He'd never doubted for a moment that he was loved.

He peered at Laura. Something in his eyes must have triggered her to say, "I always loved her. Believe it or not, so did her father." Her eyes dimmed, as he had so often Sara's dim when she was unhappy. Quietly, she added, "I took whatever was heaped on me, because I loved him and I was afraid of the outside world."

"You should have protected her," he accused in a raspy voice, and turned back to the album, not waiting for a response. The next page made him laugh. In the center was a picture of Sara missing two front teeth at the age of seven. The caption below read, "Sara, right before singing _'All I Want for Christmas are My Two Front Teeth'_ at the Christmas program."

Looking over, he saw her grin, then laugh out, "I'd forgotten about that until a few days ago. Laura made that dress special. I remember being so nervous."

"Oh, honey, you got out on stage and were so beautiful. Everyone absolutely loved it!" Laura exclaimed. Grissom smiled, because he could just _see_ her standing on a stage, the spotlight her own, happily singing about her missing teeth. He could also see her appreciating the extended gap that made her lisp with a sense of irony. In all the pictures he'd seen so far, there was always something older in the child's eyes.

Flipping the page, he found a picture of her with a bruise across her cheek. The brilliance of her eyes had died away, and a sense of recognition shone through. "That was the next day," Sara murmured. When she looked at Gil, she continued, "I don't remember what I did, but he threw me against the table. I hit the corner with my face. What you don't see is the brace on my sprained knee."

"I told people Sara had fallen down again. To my greatest shame, I blamed my child, instead of blaming my husband," Laura said. Standing nervously, she paced to the window seat that looked out onto the front yard. "At one point, he was a good man. He loved me, and he loved Sara. When we lost the business – our bed and breakfast – he changed. Bitterness seemed to drive him, and the drugs and alcohol made it worse." Turning back to face the couple, she said, "The drugs and alcohol I consumed made our lives and any chance of happiness impossible. I may have never become violent, but I was as much to blame."

Feeling his jaw grind, Grissom clenched his hands on his knees, his knuckles turning white. When Sara reached over and laid one hand on his, he took a deep breath and laid his forehead to hers. "I don't know what to say," he whispered into her ear. "I'm so goddamn angry right now."

"Maybe we better go," she said, and started to stand. Giving him a quick hug before heading off to find her jacket, she told her mother, "I need to hear the rest, but not right now."

When Laura walked back over to stand in front of Grissom, she picked up the album and held it out. "Would you like to take this with you?" she asked. He nearly said, "No," but then he thought of the picture of Sara laughing, and needed to know if there were more like it. "Yes, thank you," he quietly answered.

With a quick whistle, Hank was by Grissom's feet, and they headed out the door. "How about you ride with me?" Grissom asked. "We can pick up your car tomorrow."

"All right," Sara said, smiling, "as long as Hank sits in the back seat."

As they crossed the porch, Laura asked, "Can I convince you to come to dinner tomorrow night? My husband and step-daughter will be home. After dinner, we can talk some more. I know Dennis and April will understand, and take themselves off if that's what you want."

Grissom looked at Sara, and let her decide. When she nodded her head, he though, _That's my girl. Tough as nails and never backs down_.

Holding her hand, he led her to the car, and held her door for her, while Hank tried to crawl into her lap. Laughing, she finally pushed the boxer off her and over the front seat to the back. Smiling in response, Grissom drove off.

It was late by they arrived at their temporary 'home'. "Pull in behind the building, just down that alley," Sara said, pointing to a tight alleyway. Once parked, he shifted in his seat to look at his wife. The circles in her eyes had become pronounced, and the agitation in her movements obvious. Getting out, he went around and opened her door. Something frail had settled in her, and she seemed to be consumed with a torrent of feral emotions. While her grip was weak, ferocity counter-balanced it. He could see that thin hold begin to break down as he walked with her to the trunk to get his bags. Sara didn't often lose control, but something was about to give, and he only thanked God he was there.

Standing in the doorway, she fumbled with the key, and finally freed the lock. Upon entering, Grissom first noticed the scant belongings. The bed consisted of a mattress on the floor. Her small kitchenette was nothing more than a three foot counter wedged against the far wall between the stove and the tiny refrigerator. She'd still managed to make the space hers, though. He hadn't realized she'd taken so many pictures with her, or that she'd surrounded herself with them.

A soft light permeated the room when she flipped the switch, and he admired the sheer sage material she'd draped like a mosquito net over the bed, giving it an aura of intimacy. A small used desk, with obvious character, sat in the corner, obviously used for little chores like bill paying, he mused. A stack of mail sat on top of it. A closet with the same sage green, with red striping covered a section of the wall, and Grissom assumed this was the closet. A door on the opposite wall from the bed most likely led to the bathroom.

Padding his way into the apartment, Hank walked the perimeter, sniffed here and there, and obviously liking the scent, found a spot to call his own. Sauntering over to the closet, Grissom pushed the curtain aside and dropped his and Hank's stuff in there. When he looked back, Sara sat in the only chair in the place, wrapping her arms around herself, curling into herself. What surprised him was how white her knuckles had become. She was hurt, but even more… Sara was angry.

Standing next to her, she watched her regain her composure, and slowly uncoil, light a python. Once on her feet, she waited all of three heart beats before she turned around and slammed her hand so hard into the desk that everything on it went flying, including the lamp.

"Christ, Sara!" Grissom yelled, grabbing her and pinning her arms to him. Laying his cheek next to her, he felt vibrations rage through her, and whispered, "Breathe, honey. Deep breath. Breathe. Please." He was completely perplexed, because he'd never seen her like this before – he'd never seen her absolutely powerless over the fury coursing through her. When he felt her hot breath on his neck, he relaxed his hold, and brought his hands up to her face.

"You need to talk to me," he demanded fiercely. When she looked away, he pulled her face back and this time pleaded, "Please, baby. Talk to me." It was the endearment that finally permeated the haze she was in. It was so rare to hear anything but 'honey' or 'dear' or the rare 'sweetheart', that it stopped her in her tracks.

Trying to distract her, he leaned down and captured her lips – sucking and licking until he heard her moan. When she reached out with trembling hands, unable to unhook the buttons, he growled, "Go ahead," and felt her yanking. One by one, he felt buttons snap off, until her hands pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Her lips swelled, when she started running them over his rough beard.

Reaching out, he gripped her shirt, and pulled it over her head, revealing a nearly transparent black silk bra. As he started to run his hands down her sides, she pushed them off and left him where he stood. Sara had always been shy about her body. She enjoyed sex – she always had. However, she was never one for a show.

Walking over to the bed, she moved the netting off to the side of the bed, and turned back. Running her hand slowly between her breasts, down her belly, and into the top of her trousers, she tilted her head back and moaned. Slowly, she unbuttoned and unzipped the slacks, letting them fall away. Moving mechanically towards his wife, Grissom admired the view, wanting his hand and mouth to be every place her hands seemed to be rhythmically moving.

Running his hands over her shoulders and down her back, he helped her sit, and removed her shoes and socks. Sliding his hands from her hips to her feet, the pants fell away, until she lay back wearing a sheer kind of nothing.

"I want you," Sara whispered, reaching for him. Smiling, he removed the rest of his clothes and lay down next to her, running his hand over the patches of silk. She moaned and he reached over, removing each offending garment, until his hands flamed her skin, and his mouth followed, nibbling and licking.

When she pushed him onto his back, he smiled. She straddled him, and set back on him, settling him deep in her, and he gasped. With slow, methodical movements, she slowly tortured him, bringing him oh so close to the edge, but never letting him go over. Finally, he grabbed her hips and growled, as he reached up with his mouth to suck and lips her exposed nipples one at a time. When her moans turned to whimpers, he felt himself swelling harder, until her walls closed and clenched around him. A few more strokes, and he felt himself release into her.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her down, settling her face in the crook of his neck. He had to laugh when she asked, "If I have Catherine teach me how to be a stripper, will it get even better?" Smiling into his neck, she murmured, "I love you."

She only groaned a little when he jarred her sitting up in order to grab the blankets. "I'm glad you asked me to come here," Grissom whispered. With his eyes closed, he sighed, and added, "I'll provide as little or much support as you want." Using his hand, he tilted her face up when he said, "But don't ever be afraid of falling apart in front of me. I'll always stand with you."

Closing their eyes, they sought a peaceful oblivion in sleep.

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A/N – Still have the crappy cold, but at least I'm not cranky anymore. Just tired. Wake me up by hitting the review button. That might just work.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N – Hallelujah, my cold is starting to think about going away! Okay, it's another short chapter. I hope you like it. Please review. Thanks!

Disclaimer – Every now and again, I think about looking up the etymology of the word Disclaimer, and then think, what's the point. If I can't figure it out without looking it up, I'm not that bright.

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When Sara woke the next morning, Gil was already awake and sitting at the little desk. Quietly, she watched him flip pages, sometimes smiling and sometimes frowning. Her mother had been correct in saying the good and the bed were contained in the album. Several years before, Laura had run across a box of pictures, and had decided to put together what she called her 'Book of Honesty'.

The book contained pictures of her smiling, frowning, and even sometimes crying. Every picture represented a part of Sara's life – a piece of her own history. Some of the pictures caused her physical pain to look at, while others brought back memories that made her smile.

"I've spent my entire life feeling ashamed," she said quietly, grabbing a robe from the closet and standing next him. As she looked at ten year old Sara very soberly holding up a science fair second place prize, she touched the picture and said, "I used to think I had to be the best at everything just to keep peace."

When he glanced up, she smiled sadly. "I don't know when happiness simply ceased to exist, but it did," she said. Placing her hand over that serious face, she looked at her husband and said something she'd wanted to say for a long time. "I have never felt ashamed of our relationship. I know you've questioned that. It's more like I was afraid of the rumors and whispers." Shaking her head, she concluded, "I've always been so afraid people will see straight through me, I don't want anyone to see me at all. I _really_ didn't want anyone to think I slept with you for the job."

Pulling her onto his lap, he murmured, "Anyone who knows you – really knows you – knows that isn't the case." Smiling ruefully, he continued, "The fact is, neither one of us handled it all that well. Part of me was afraid of what would happen if Ecklie had found out. It turns out, if I'd told him what was going on, he probably would have just shifted you to report to Catherine."

"We don't always know how to read people's intentions, do we?" she asked. At his chuckle, she smiled, and kissed his neck.

His face sobering as he watched hers, he softly asked, "Are you finding what you're looking for?" and saw her smile.

"Yes," she responded. Standing, she approached the closet, grabbed some clothes, and headed into the shower. Before she entered the bathroom, she smiled, and said, "Let me get dressed and we'll go eat."

Walking down the street, Sara grabbed hold of Grissom's hand. "I should have always been holding your hand," she said. When she looked up at him, he grinned. "I should have doing a lot of things, like holding you and kissing you, whenever one of us needed it," she added. Sneaking a peak as they walked, she told him, "I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to think about the answer before you say anything." Pausing, she turned mid-stride and stopped to face him. "Did you ask me to marry you because you thought we were drifting apart?" With the question asked, she turned, and pulled him along to a local diner.

It wasn't until they were seated that Grissom finally answered with, "Yes. I think part of the reason I proposed _when_ I did was because I felt us drifting apart. However, I would have never asked if I didn't feel this way about you." His eyes earnest, he leaned forward, and kissed her cheek.

"Okay. I think that makes us about even, then. Part of me said yes for the same reason. However, I would never have said yes if I didn't love you so much," she responded, her face a picture of earnestness.

"We're a strange pair," he chuckled. When she grinned slyly at him, the grin turned into a chuckle.

"I don't know if I can change who I am and how I feel about people talking about me," Sara said with a frown. Thoughtfully, she added, "I can certainly try to change how I react, though. The fact is, I'm _not_ ashamed of our relationship. What we've built over the last couple of years is the first relationship I've ever had based on honesty. We never talked about a lot of things, and I think that needs to change, but we have always tried to be honest in our reactions with one another."

Considering her comments, Grissom took a sip of his coffee before saying, "You're right on a lot of things. I think we need to start talking about things we never say, though."

After placing their orders, Grissom held Sara's hand and turned her words back on her. "I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to think about the answer before you say anything. Why are you afraid to self-destruct in front of me?"

Sitting back, she contemplated the question. It was something she'd asked herself frequently since she left. At times, she thought herself insane for leaving him behind. At other times, she understood a most basic fear drove her. "I have this deep seated fear in me that is made up of so many pieces and parts – and so overwhelming at times. I think I've been afraid for you to see the worst of me. I know I've been afraid that even I don't know the worst of me. So in the end, I left you behind. After that, I was just a mass of confused emotions. If I'm being honest, part of me felt like I'd been gone for awhile, already, and that I'd lost you."

At his puzzled look, she asked, "Did I ever tell you I don't like whispers? For that matter, did you know that it's a major phobia of mine?" When he squeezed her hand, she saw the puzzled look on his face. Quietly, she added, "Have you ever been frozen in fear? I mean truly frozen – you can't move or breathe. That's what it's like for me at times, and it stems from spending most of my life trying to be an invisible, perfect person."

Feeling the conversation become more and more intense, Grissom began to steer the conversation, until Sara noticed and laughed. Having been caught, that boyish grin she loved to see emerged, and she sighed. Eventually, they finished their meal and made their way back to the apartment.

For several hours, Sara went through each picture in the album. Every now and again, she stopped to make an observation. Time ticked by quickly, as they watched the first twelve years of Sara's life unfold in front of them.

"It's taken me coming back to see this… to know that sometimes the mind of a child traps in terrors that aren't so terrifying as an adult," she murmured. As she flipped the album shut, she smiled sadly, when she said, "I wish I'd done this years before. It's given me a kind of peace I never knew I could feel."

"Let's go down to the wharf," Gil suggested, helping her up from her seat on the bed, where they'd been going through the album.

Smiling, she hugged him tight, and said, "That sounds great. There's a wonderful vegetarian place down there. Plus, it'll help take my mind off of what Laura is going to be telling me tonight."

Holding her hand, he pulled her through the door and said, "Let's go enjoy the day. We'll worry about tonight later."

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A/N – I was nice. I wrote two chapters. Wasn't that nice of me? Really really nice? As in please give me a review because I earned it kind of nice? Please? Please? I'm nice. Click the button and review the nice person's work.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N – Okay, a nice long chapter. I think maybe Sara and Grissom will be going home soon.

Disclaimer – Give me a quarter and I'll buy one.

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That evening, they made their way back to Laura's house. Standing on the front porch, Grissom quietly frowned as waves of tension began to roll off of Sara. Before knocking, he reached down and squeezed her hand. "I won't tell you to relax," he said, and when he turned back to the door, he added, "Just remember I'm here, and I'll always be here."

Grissom raised his eyebrow in surprise when Laura answered the door after barely ringing the bell. "Please, come in," she offered, stepping back to give them room. "Dennis is in the living room," she continued, leading them into the room Grissom remembered from the previous night.

After quick introductions were made, Sara asked, "Where's April?" Over the past couple of months, she had become fond of her step-sister, and found she enjoyed spending time with the young, vibrant college student. It amazed her that this lively, active young woman had been raised by Laura. Sometimes, when she wanted to really admit it to herself, Sara felt a tinge of jealousy. However, jealousy couldn't possibly stand up to April's effervescent personality.

With a fond smile, Laura replied, "She's in the kitchen, helping me with dinner. Would you like to join us?"

When Grissom received a pleading look, he just smiled. Sara and a kitchen were never a good combination, as he had discovered on numerous occasions. She delivered a look of her own when he blandly said, "Don't burn anything, dear."

"Hi, Dennis," Sara muttered, being led away, as if to her funeral.

Failing at controlling his grin, Grissom took a seat when Dennis waved him to it. He took stock of Sara's step-father. Dennis appeared to be in his mid to late sixties, trim, and tall. He stood several inches taller than Grissom. Gil flinched when realized he had the same sweater in his closet, and wondered if he looked like an aged, retired professor when he wore it, as well.

"So you're Sara's husband," Dennis murmured. Suddenly feeling like he was being placed under the microscope, the steel trap shut down on Grissom's face and he went into passive resistance mode. Smiling, Dennis said, "Please… take no offense. I've just become fond of Sara these last couple of months. She's a remarkable woman, much like her mother."

"Yes, she is," Grissom quietly replied.

"I'm going to ask you something personal, so feel free to tell me it's none of my business if you wish," Dennis started. When he had Gil's full attention, he asked, "Why didn't you come here with Sara?"

Grissom sat back in his chair, and debated what he would or could talk about. "That's not an easy question, and there isn't an easy answer," he finally replied. When he received nothing but silence, he continued, "I don't know how much Sara has told you, or how much you've wanted to hear. Neither one of us expects life to be fair. However, it can be unkind and cruel at times."

"You've both seen a great deal of it in your jobs," Dennis replied.

Thinking about their line of work, Grissom nodded before matter-of-factly saying, "If not us, then who will stand for them? Who will stand for the abused, the hurt, and the dead? Most people go about their lives, and don't understand the toll it can take. You don't just do the job – you _are_ the job. It's part of what defines you."

"And Sara couldn't do the job anymore," Dennis quietly inferred.

"No, she couldn't," Grissom concurred, then added, "She needed to come here to deal with her own past. It's something she felt she needed to do on her own, and I had to respect that."

Both got lost in thought before Dennis said, "I think she may be close to going back, though – to the job."

Grissom's eyes sharpened, so Dennis explained, "When she first came here, she seemed… a little lost, like someone looking for meaning to their being." Chuckling, he continued, "She also reminded me of a warrior, ready to do battle. She made it very clear up front that she was here on her own terms, and if we didn't want to meet those terms, we could all go to hell and die a fiery death." Pausing, he added, "She may not have said the words, but the look in her eyes said more than enough."

Grissom said, "Good for her. She's always been one to stand up for others – identify other people's needs – she needed to stand for herself." Pausing, he studied the older man, and added, "I think she's needed people to accept her, and it seems you have."

With a somber face, Dennis quietly looked at the kitchen door, as Sara's and April's laughter filtered through. Leaning a bit forward, he quietly said, "I asked Laura to marry me over a decade ago. I knew what had happened, and why it had happened. However, she's an amazing woman, with a talent for empathizing. Not having Sara in her life has always left a gaping wound in her. Having Sara here these last couple of months has been… liberating for all of us. It's been nice for April to have a sister."

When Grissom smiled, Dennis curiously asked, "What?"

Gil's reply surprised them both, when he said, "Laura comes across as a bit fragile. She can be tough as nails, though, can't she? She's survived months in a mental institution, years in jail, and since then she's probably dealt with being stigmatized by others as a murderer… I wonder what Sara will do when she realizes she's a lot like her mother."

As Dennis roared with laughter, the kitchen door opened, puffs of smoke came filtering out, and the fire alarm beeped extraordinarily loud. When Sara emerged, she rolled her eyes, and said, "I told them not to have me cook. They keep trying to teach me, though."

Standing next to her husband, she leaned in and murmured, "We may be ordering pizza if they can't manage to fix the disaster I created."

A pizza delivery later, the five of them sat around the dining table. Grissom had been pleasantly surprised in meeting April, and found her to be charming, engaging, and extremely energetic. "So, Sara said you are in college. What are you studying?" he asked.

"Math and computer science majors, and a minor in physics," April quickly replied. Tilting her head a bit in thought, her long blond hair curved over her shoulder, and she absently pulled it back. Physically, April reminded him of the stereotypical sorority girl – all laughs and fun, with no real substance. However, she was anything, but that when you spoke with her.

With a smile, she said, "At first, I was generally a shocker to my professors. They seemed to initially assume that because I'm in shape and blond, I'm not that bright." Laughing, she added, "I fully intend to graduate Magna Cum Laude."

"What do you want to do with your degree?" Grissom asked, his curiosity peaked.

"I thought about writing video games," April said. "However, hearing Sara talk about the work she's done, I'm thinking I might take a couple of video forensics courses next year," she added. Taking a bite of pizza, she thoughtfully chewed before continuing, "I volunteer two nights a week at the community center, and in the summer I work with the youth program. I like giving back to the community that raised me. While I could make some damn good money making games, I want… it's hard to explain."

Dennis looked right at Grissom when he paraphrased Gil's own words, "You want to stand for people who can't stand for themselves."

"Exactly," April replied.

Grissom noticed Sara getting quieter and quieter as April talked about her goals. He reached under the table and squeezed her hand. When he looked in her eyes, he could see the fear surge from her and into the room. Time seemed to stop, as they looked, touched hands, and he felt the tremors flow through her. The room fell silent, and they spoke in silent conversation.

Finally turning her attention back to her step-sister, Sara quietly said, "April, be very sure working around crime and criminals is what you want, because it takes a piece of you that you will never get back."

"She's right," Grissom concurred. Squeezing her hand one more time before releasing it, he addressed the young woman. "Even the lab techs, who usually don't see the victim or the suspect, aren't sheltered from the agony that the victim feels. Sometimes, it hits so hard, you feel like crawling into a hole and dying. Yet you can't. Every day, you get up knowing that someone is going to be beaten or raped or mutilated or killed. Every day, you go to work, with this knowledge that someone needs answers, and you have to provide them." Feeling a surge of fatigue, Gil sat back in his chair.

Sara could feel the weariness emanating from her husband, so she took over the conversation, "At the end of the day, you are expected to step back and let go of the victim. It may seem cold and callous, but if you don't… if you give every victim a piece of yourself… you burn out, and you lose perspective." Looking at the table, she murmured, "I lost perspective, but I'd lost myself long before I ever became a CSI."

It was Grissom's next action that convinced Laura that Grissom was right for her daughter.

Without hesitation, he leaned over, kissed her temple, and quietly whispered, "You're still here. I'm still here. And as warped as our family back home might be, they're still there, too. They miss you." Closing his eyes, Grissom could feel the tension rise in his wife, and used a hand to rub her shoulder until she leaned into him. The two of them had been riding the edge of fatigue for so long; they didn't know any other way to live, so they just held for a few moments – eyes closed and finding solace.

"I'm glad you're here," she said with a full Sara Sidle smile… the one he'd always loved to see.

"I'll think about what you said," April told them soberly. She then addressed Sara with, "How much of what happened when you were a child has influenced and harmed you, though? I don't think I could be a CSI, but if I could find a way to help with my skills, I need to do it. Mom taught me that." She nodded towards Laura.

Trying to lighten the tenseness in the room, Laura stood and smiled. "Let me get the dishes, and we can have coffee in the living room," she said. Looking at Grissom she asked, "Would you care to help me?"

Picking up the plates, he followed Laura into the kitchen, and began rinsing.

Standing back, she studied him. She hadn't been sure what to think when this man had shown up. The fact that he was significantly older than his daughter had surprised her. However, when she'd watched them together, she recognized that in a lot of ways, her daughter was older, too. It made her ache in a way that only a mother would recognize, and knowing she was a significant cause of it, made the ache burrow deep.

"She loves you," Laura softly said, "and from what I've seen, I don't need to ask if you love her, as well."

She stood beside him at the sink as he finished rinsing the last plate. "Will you tell me how you met?" she asked.

Grissom contemplated the question, and from her tone realized she was asking more. She wanted to know how they ended up together. Wiping his hands on a towel, as she busied herself with making coffee, he finally said, "I feel like I've known her forever. We met years ago, here in San Francisco, at a lecture I was giving on forensics. She fascinated me from the start. I asked her to come to Las Vegas."

Shaking his head, he sat on the stool at the counter before he continued, "I knew she wanted a relationship. Hell, I wanted the relationship, too. I was her boss. She was my subordinate. I didn't see how it could work, but she was always… there. For awhile, I think I regretted bringing her so close, where I couldn't touch her in the way we both needed." 

"When did you decide it was worth the risk?" Laura asked.

Grimacing, he replied, "I started thinking that direction when she was nearly killed by a man in a mental institution. She'd had problems controlling her anger, lately, but we'd started talking. She started talking to me. Then one day, we're working a case, and this man has a something at her throat and is about to slice her jugular. They were locked in a room together. I couldn't do anything. I froze. When she came out of it, a small nick on her throat, she told me she wasn't about to let her past determine how she reacted to cases anymore. She was going to finish it. All I could think was '_That's my girl. Fight your way out of it_.' It's an image I live with constantly, though."

When she put a cup of coffee in front of him, he continued, "When our friend Nick was kidnapped and buried alive, I realized I couldn't keep fighting the inevitable. We started re-establishing this friendship we'd once had, and it progressed from there. We've been together for well over two years. It all comes back to feeling like I've known her forever."

"You're in love with her," Laura murmured, a wide smile gracing her face.

"Yes," he replied, a boyish grin on his face.

As they walked out, Grissom watched his wife talk animatedly to her young step-sister. There was an affection evident, which had been denied her entire life. When he sat down beside her on the couch, Sara smiled at him. For the moment, her eyes were alive and dancing with humor.

"April's been telling me blond jokes," she laughed, and added, "I need to pass them on to Catherine."

Cups of coffee were passed around. Once everyone was settled, Sara gripped Grissom's hand, and he could feel her coiling into herself again. She needed to ask the questions to lay to rest those overwhelming childhood fears.

Laura offered, "Dennis and April can go out for awhile, if you like," to her daughter.

Looking at her step-sister and step-father, Sara shook her head, and said, "Dennis already knows what you did, as I'm sure April does, as well. If April really wants to go the route she's thinking, maybe it's best she stay. However, I'll leave it up to you."

April looked at her parents, and somberly said, "I don't know the details, and maybe I should stay. All right, mom?"

Laura nodded, and then restlessly stood. Opening a cedar chest, she pulled out several items and set them on the coffee table: a baby blanket, a tooth, and a folder. Picking up the soft wool, she handed it to Sara. "I wrapped you in this when I brought you home from the hospital," she said, a soft sad smile on her face. "This is the first tooth you lost. It was fairly loose, so you started wiggling it, until it finally just fell out," she said, handing the tooth to Sara.

Finally, kneeling beside the coffee table, Laura flipped open the folder. Sara's eyes began to dilate, and thunder roared in her ears, when she saw the picture lying on top. For an eternity, all she heard was a thin buzzing, becoming louder with each passing second, until everything began to tilt and swirl.

When her breathing became shallow, Grissom pulled her up, and started her walking around the room. "Breathe, honey. Breathe," he repeated with each step. When she stumbled, he walked her out onto the front porch and into unconstrained surroundings. Worry crept into his throat, although no one from the outside would have seen it in his expression. Stony-faced, Grissom walked her and walked her. He'd witnessed this before – the shock. He'd never seen it with her, though. Sara always stood. She may have gotten shaken before, but she stood firm.

Her hands were so cold; he gripped them harder, as he led her. Pulling her into his embrace, he flinched as her hands struck out, scratching and clawing, as she tried to get away. Now shaking her, Grissom started yelling, "Sara, stop! You have to stop!" His face firm, he shook her a couple more times, until her knees buckled, and he lifted her. Sitting down on the bench swing, he held Sara until the bitter weeping began, and rocked gently as she turned to him for comfort.

"Oh God," Laura tearfully whispered, "What have I done?"

For over an hour, the couple sat on the bench swing, and rocked, until her fears receded enough to allow her brain to process. Eventually, she said, "Are you sure you want to be married to me?"

On a humorless chuckle, he replied, "I'm married to one of the bravest, most compassionate women who ever lived. Neither one of us is easy to live with, but we seem to do okay together. Why on earth would I not want to be married to you."

"I'm feeling kind of like an idiot now," she replied, and for the first time got a good look at the scratch she'd placed on his neck. "I did that?" she asked, and when he just grinned at her, she laughed and whispered, "I think I've done worst in bed." When she kissed him, he relished the feel of her, and held her tighter, until the tilted world balanced.

"Do you want to go home?" he asked, leaving his features neutral. This needed to be her decision.

"No, Gil. I can't. I need to finish this," she said. Looking into his eyes, she was reminded a thousand times over why she'd fallen in love with him. He may tend towards being quiet and reserved, but if anyone ever bothered, his eyes showed the true power of the man. "I really, more than anything, want to go home. Our home," she quietly sighed as she leaned her cheek against his. "I really need to finish what I started here."

Slowly, he stood, with his wife in his arms. When she grinned and said, "Your back is going to kill you tomorrow," he laughed. Walking back into the house, the steel mask settled over him again, and they sat back down on the couch.

"I threw the picture away, Sara," Laura said, her voice pitched with anxiety.

It was part of the file, so it was part of the case, and it wasn't the picture that had bothered her, but the memory. "Please go get it," Sara requested. When Laura hesitated and looked at Grissom, he gave her a sharp nod. Within moments, Laura returned with the image.

Closing her eyes, Sara felt Gil's hand on her arm, and he whispered, "Stop and just see the victim. Don't see your parents, see a stranger. That's what he is to you. He's a stranger. It happened a long time ago. It can't hurt you. Okay?"

With a quick nod, she slowly opened her eyes, and looked at the photograph again. He was wearing a plaid shirt – button down. Picking up the photo, she began looking at the details of the scene, with a trembling hand. Suddenly, she dropped the picture and closed her eyes.

She murmured, "The blood all over the carpet isn't in this picture. There was blood everywhere – he didn't die right away. He bled out, and he crawled from the hallway to the living room. There was a trail, where the largest blood pool indicates he finally stopped right inside the living room. There's another blood pool in the hall, where he laid for awhile, gathering back some strength. In the end, he died just a foot away from the telephone. He was asking for help."

When Laura's eyes snapped up to Sara's face, she felt her very life force begin to drain out of her. She glanced at Dennis, then at April, before settling her gaze on Sara again.

"Sara, honey… how do you know he was asking for help?" Laura asked.

In a bare whisper, she replied, "I was hiding in the hall closet. When the worst of the noise stopped, and there wasn't screaming anymore, I came out. I saw it and heard it."

Grissom pulled Sara into him a little, and she smiled mirthlessly when she told him, "I was hiding, but I hid in the wrong place. I watched him crawl, and I did nothing. I watched him die, and I felt relief… and fear," she said. In a hesitant whisper, she looked at her mother and said, "I was so afraid of you. I saw you, covered in blood, and I was afraid you wanted to kill me, too."

Her face ash, Laura tremulously said, "I thought you were at Rachel's. You were spending the night." Silent tears tracked down the woman's face, as Dennis laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Shaking her head, Sara replied, "We got into a stupid fight, so I came home. I'd just walked in, and I could hear the screaming, and I saw you fighting, so I hid. And when…" she faltered, "when it happened, I ran and ran until I was back at Rachel's. And I cried when I begged her to let me stay, and I scared her. I know I scared her, because she was hugging me tight and told me I could stay. I was shaking, and then the police came… and she never broke her promise not to tell…" she left off.

Tears pouring down, Laura began to reach her hand up, and pulled back. "I don't know what to say or do," she finally said. Looking at her husband, she rasped, "I've done so much damage. I didn't know how much damage I'd done."

"I didn't say anything," Sara suddenly said, "I heard him calling for help, and I didn't do anything." Looking at Gil, she asked, "What does that make me?"

Holding her tight, he murmured, "It makes you a survivor. Think about it. How often have we had kids experience things this bad or worse? How often have we left those kids to the counselors, because we knew the trauma it would cause to relive it? How many times have we seen the looks on kids' faces that have experienced this, and done nothing?"

Pulling back, he looked in her eyes, when he asked, "Tell me this – have you ever blamed a child for not acting?"

Shaking her head, she indignantly replied, "Of course not. Kids aren't responsible for the adults around them."

With smug satisfaction, he said, "Precisely."

"Our job has always been to see the evidence through to the end, and not judge. How can you possibly judge yourself for something that is considered acceptable and understandable?" he asked. "How can you possibly expect me or anyone else to judge you for it."

"It's a part of the shame I've always lived with," she murmured, every part of her body suddenly aching and raw.

The dark circles under her eyes stood out against the pale skin, and he said, "Follow the evidence, Sara. See where it leads you. I can guarantee it won't lead you to the end you anticipate. You're too close to this case."

Sara sighed, and suddenly felt in her element. She understood cases, and she understood how to work them. Smiling, her eyes closed as she leaned in him, she said, "The evidence takes it back to the parents. Facts: Both abused drugs and alcohol. The male figure dominated the house with fear tactics, usually involving physical abuse. The female figure became submissive, trying to disappear. The child became the target on many occasions. Standard MO for domestic abuse, where the wife enabled the abuse to continue. There are a multitude of common scenarios, and only one that ends well. Case 1: Family stays together and abuse continues, Case 2: Abuser kills those he or she abuses, or a target of the abuse kills the abuser, Case 3: Abused family members leave the situation, and Case 4: Family is killed by abuser, who then turns the weapon of choice on himself."

"Very good, you remember the basic principals. You also remember we see these cases every week if not every day. How often do we get that happy ending?" Gil asked, closing his eyes, and settling into a typical conversation in the Grissom household. The irony struck him that they were talking about her case in the same way they'd made a game of talking about other cases.

"In general, fear is the lead emotion in the household. The victim of abuse often uses the excuse of loving someone, and it plays a part. However, fear of the unknown is a strong influencing factor. Another major factor would be the victim's feeling of self-worth," Sara intoned, and continued to add factors into the list.

As they bantered the facts of domestic abuse back, and forth, the other occupants of the room became morbidly silent. Like a show, they watched the volley of words, and could only imagine other scenarios they'd done this with. Eventually, Grissom and Sara had exhausted the topic, each finding some nugget of new information gleaned from the other, and they opened their eyes and smiled at one another.

"We haven't done that in awhile," Sara said. On a sigh, she added, "I miss playing that game with you. I forget how much it centers me when I have to deal with the victims." As the exercise faded away, and they came back to themselves, Sara sat forward, and looked at her step-sister.

She quietly said, "Do you understand now? Do you understand the risks involved? Cases like this happen all the time in our lives. I've seen children raped and murdered by parents. I've seen teenagers beaten and abused. I've seen husband and wives beat and stab each other. But I've also seen wives get help from the resources available. I've seen children recover and flourish. There are good sides and bad to working in forensics. Make sure you really know what you want, before you make the decision."

April looked at Laura apologetically, when she said, "I can't imagine what got you to that place. However, I see the pain it's caused Sara. If I can do even some small thing to help, I want to do so. I don't know if I'll end up in forensics or not, but if this is where I decide to go, I'll deal with it."

"Just don't hide," Sara said. Her face expressionless, she added, "I've hidden away for so long, I sometimes feel like nothing more than a vapor – a ghost."

When she looked at her mother, she wanted to ask why she'd killed him. Sara wanted to know why at that particular time had she stab him. She hadn't meant to ask, "Was it my fault again?"

On a sob, Laura finally reached up and gathered Sara into a hug, feeling her daughter stiffen at the embrace. Even after all these months, Sara didn't allow herself to get too comfortable with Laura. It was something her mother had come to accept. "I'm sorry," Sara murmured in a monotone voice. "That's not the right question."

"Maybe it is," Laura whispered, fiercely. Shaking her daughter slightly, she frowned and said, "We always blamed you for our faults, because we couldn't blame ourselves. _You_ took the worst of it. _You_ took beatings meant for me, and I let you. _You_ were the one that were given cruel words. And in the end, _you_ were the only one innocent in all of it."

Wiping at her eyes, Sara stood and held her hand out to Grissom. "I need to walk," she said, and gripped his hand. Turning back, she said, "We'll be back in awhile," and set off down the street.

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A/N – Ahhh… a nice long chapter. I'm sure it deserves a nice long review, don't you? Hit the little button down there. Yep, that's right. Put the mouse pointer right over it, and click. Now, type away. Thanks!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer – The lawyers got together and wrote a disclaimer, but it's too big to post here.

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Walking down the sidewalk in front of other pleasant homes, Sara looked over at Grissom. Catching her gaze, he asked, "Is that what you meant by self-destructing?"

When he didn't get a reply after a few quiet moments, he stopped and faced her. "I need to understand what you meant by self-destructing," he said, his face stern. "I need to know what you meant."

Knowing he wasn't about to give up the topic in his grip, she replied, "That's part of it." The monotone voice continued, "The other part is not knowing myself how bad it would be if I self-destructed."

Putting his hands in his pockets, they walked together in companionable silence. Each got lost in thought, and before they knew it, they'd walked at least a mile. This time, she stopped, and sought his gaze. "I can't see your eyes in the light of the street lamps," she murmured, a course of emptiness overwhelming her.

"There have been times in my life, I've felt… nothing. Since Natalie, it's gotten worse, and the entire time under the car, I just kept thinking that if I could put away what happened to me before, I could find a way to stop from fading," Sara explained. She wished she could see the expression on his face, because it often helped her form the words she needed to say and he needed to hear. The whisper was barely audible, when she finished, "I don't want to be a nonentity."

"When you were kidnapped, I felt frozen. Something in me went so cold. I did the only thing I could, and started working the case – following the evidence," he said, looking straight forward. This part had always been hard for him to talk about, because every time he even thought about him, he felt panicked. "Let me tell you who gave everything they had for you: Brass, Catherine, Greg, Warrick, Nick, Sofia, Hodges… do you want me to continue?"

"I remember Nick finding me," she murmured. Smiling, she looked at him and said, "I remember seeing your name on your vest, and feeling this immense relief."

"The panic didn't stop until you opened her eyes," he replied, and added, "Let me ask you this. Do you really think you could ever disappear?"

"I think I'm starting to understand. I don't like people talking about me, but I think maybe I've spent too much time worrying about what people think about me," she stated. The confidence and resolution in her voice had him looking down at her.

By the time they reached her mother's home, Sara was calm, and had a sense of herself that she'd never felt before. "I think maybe I understand a few things about my life that I never did before," she said, as they climbed the steps to the front porch. When she reached the top step, Grissom standing a couple steps behind her, she turned and wrapped her arms around him.

"I meant it earlier, Gil," she said. "I want to go home. I think I'm ready to get back to my life. I can't regret the time I've taken… or the steps, but it's time to pack it up and move back."

While she spoke, he looked into her eyes, and for the first time in forever, he saw clarity and determination. "I really do love you, Mrs. Grissom," he said as they mounted the steps. "Are you sure you're ready? I don't want you to leave here if you're not ready."

"I want, more than anything, to see the lights of Las Vegas. I want to go home."

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A/N – This is going to be the last entry for Tempered. However, I intend to continue the story in the future (haven't come up with any titles, yet, so if you have a suggestion, let me know). I want to try continuing this story, only keeping the characters in character. So, my next story (which may not start until after Christmas) will be from Sara's return to Vegas.

A/N 2 – Thanks to everyone who has given me such wonderful reviews, I appreciate it.


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